Two out of Three: Continuations
by The Manwell
Summary: Duo and Trowa have made the decision to stay married and to work for the Preventers. Everything else is still up for grabs. Friendships will be strengthened. Roles need to be defined. Compromises must be defied. A collection of one-shot fics following "TWO OUT OF THREE". See individual parts for ratings and POV. 2x3x2 YAOI.
1. A Night In

WARNINGS: **RATED M** for language, innuendo, shounen ai (YAOI, which means male/male sexytiems)

DISCLAIMER: I don't own the boys, the Gundams, the copyrights, or the patents. But the snappy one-liners are mine, all mine (unless indicated otherwise in the chapter notes).

* * *

**A Night In**

_Follows "Two out of Three" – Duo POV. Smexy fluff. PWP. Takes place after Duo and Trowa have returned to Brussels and joined the Preventers._

* * *

I was going to have him. There were no if's, and's, or but's about it. That ass was mine.

He walked into the room like he owned the place, his hips rocking to the beat with every step. Fuck. My gaze snagged on the thigh-hugging jeans, traveled up to the aforementioned ass of luscious proportions, then along the sexy-as-hell curve of his lower back to the black tank top just freakin' _clinging _to his torso.

Oh, man. He was lickable. Every damn inch of him.

I watched him move to the beat, the dim lights teasing me with brief glimpses of the curve of a bare bicep, the flat plane of his belly…

Fuck this. I knew my limits and I just could not take it anymore.

I unfolded myself from my seat. I stalked him. Then, when I was within range, I snatched the towel from his hands and tossed it on the floor. His green gaze glittered at me from behind the tousled fall of his partially-dried hair.

"I was using that," he pointed out.

"Use me instead," I growled and leaned in for a kiss. His arms came around me and I was pulled flush against him. Oh God. _Yes._ I rocked my hips against his in time with the music playing on the stereo until I heard him groan softly.

He broke our kiss and tucked his nose behind my ear, inhaling deeply. "So, can I assume this means we _aren't _going out to the bar tonight after all?"

I chuckled darkly, "Not unless you want me to do _this _on the dance floor." I demonstrated what I had in mind, pressing my palm against the crotch of his sinfully tight jeans, and began kissing my way down his neck with little licks and brief sucks. Yummm.

"Are you insane?" he rasped. "What makes you think I'm letting you leave the room before you finish what you've started?"

I chuckled darkly as I backed him up against the arm of the sofa. "That's what I love about you, baby," I told him.

"I'm a man of high standards?" he guessed as his hands found their way under my slightly-too-small, black T-shirt.

"You read my mind."

* * *

NOTES:

As you've no doubt guessed, this little ficlet has ZERO bearing on the plot of the TooT!verse. It was just a fun idea that popped into my head: write a scene that reads like a first-meeting at a club or bar and then turn it around.

There are several installments to come (before "Tag and Other Backyard Games" starts) which _do _have an impact on the TooT!verse: a flashback, explanations, new relationships, new traditions and ambitions, plus LOTS of Duo/Trowa character development. (What? Just because they're an official couple that doesn't mean they can just kick back next to the Pool of Marital Bliss and be eye candy. Although, I must say, that _is _a lovely visual.)


	2. Filling in the Blanks

WARNINGS: **RATED T** for language, innuendo, shounen ai (YAOI, which means male/male sexytiems)

DISCLAIMER: I don't own the boys, the Gundams, the copyrights, or the patents. But the snappy one-liners are mine, all mine (unless indicated otherwise in the chapter notes).

SPOILERS: _Two out of Three,_ Chapter 15: Bulletproof Loneliness (Yes, that means Farmville is BAA~AACK!)

* * *

**Filling in the Blanks**

_Follows "Two out of Three" – Duo decides to share a part of his recent past with Trowa. Trowa POV. Takes place after Duo and Trowa have begun training to be pilots for the Preventers._

* * *

"Where are we going?"

It was our first weekend off since starting Preventers training. I was tired and my brain was overloaded with the unnecessary minutiae of by-the-book bureaucracy. I'd been looking forward to spending Saturday and Sunday in bed with my husband, not rolling out of it at the first hint of daylight and following him blindly around on a mysterious jaunt through the countryside.

Although, the way he looked now – energized and happy – made it very difficult for me to cling to my frustration.

Across from me, Duo leaned back in his seat, one knee pulled up and the corresponding elbow propped up along the top of the cushion. It was disconcerting to see him sprawled thusly in public even if the train was mostly empty of passengers at this hour. It made me think of how I'd come out of the shower earlier in the week and found him in bed, wearing nothing but his boxers as he'd looked through the day's homework reading. The spiral bound textbook had been laid open across his bent knee, his other leg stretched out as if in invitation. I smirked as I remembered how I'd accepted. In the end, we'd had to get up an hour early the next morning and consume copious amounts of coffee in order to finish the required reading before reporting for the next day of training.

"Hmm," he purred. "I wonder what you're thinking about…"

I gave him a look. "Ask me and I'll tell you." It was more than a promise. It was a threat. I didn't care that we were on a train bound for Marseilles. My self-control was non-existent when it came to answering any and every challenge Duo issued, be it intentional or not.

"How generous of you to offer," he replied cheekily.

I crossed my arms. Not because I was offended but because I was one of his sexy smirks away from yanking him onto my lap and kissing him until we pulled into the service station at the end of the line.

"Thank you. You might return the favor," I remarked as blandly as I could. Some days, it was almost impossible to get a solid grip on the emotionless mask I'd once worn so easily.

"How would you like me to do that?" he asked, giving me that wide-eyed, innocent look of his. How devious. He must _know_ what that look does to me. I curled my fingers tighter around my biceps.

"You could perhaps tell me where we are headed."

Duo shrugged a shoulder. "You wouldn't believe me if I did. Here, have a sandwich. It's gonna be a while."

I caught the convenience store-bought, plastic-wrapped bundle in one hand. I tried to glare at him but my mouth kept twitching into a grin. His energy was infectious. I sighed and turned back to the window, telling myself that even if I wasn't content to watch the scenery roll by while I ate my pre-fabricated sandwich, it passed the time at least. And when Duo was determined to be mysterious, time slowed to a crawl. It was a scientifically proven fact.

Six hours, an assortment of sandwiches and numerous cups of stale coffee later, we were nowhere near Marseilles when Duo suddenly stood and collected his duffel bag. "Next stop is us," he announced and I just about tripped over my own feet unfolding myself from the seat and hurrying after him.

It was a good thing I'd kept him in my sights; the train stopped for all of one-point-five seconds before it was rolling on its way and this tiny, rural station had already been forgotten by the passengers still aboard.

"Where are we?" I asked, thoroughly befuddled.

Duo shouldered his duffel and headed for the station exit like he'd been here before. "C'mon, babe. Let's see if our ride's here."

"Our… ride…" I retorted, striding after him. I caught up as he handed his ticket over to the clerk on duty. This station was remarkably old fashioned; the cities and larger towns had all installed electronic ticketing systems at the gates. Only in quiet, little country towns like this was the position still held by an actual human being. I passed the uniformed officer my ticket, keeping an eye on my unusually enigmatic husband. He paused just on the other side of the turnstile barrier and waved to someone.

I looked up and blinked. An elderly couple was waiting by the station doors, waving back.

"Duo?" I objected. This was my limit. If he didn't tell me what the hell was going on, I was going to have to insist on a full and immediate disclosure.

He turned toward me, grinning. "Welcome to Farmville, babe. Also known as The Place Where JC Hid Out For Twelve Weeks Before He Grew A Pair And Decided To Beg His Husband To Take Him Back."

I laughed, giddy with relief. "I don't think that'll fit on the 'Welcome to Farmville' sign."

"Yeah. Too bad, huh?"

"And the welcome committee?" I pressed, nodding toward the elderly couple without taking my eyes off of Duo's bright expression.

"The people who took me in." He reached out and grasped my arm. "And, to tell ya the truth, I've been wantin' you to meet 'em for a while."

I felt my entire being soften in response to his confession. He was endearingly nervous, beautifully frank, and looked startlingly young. It was all I could do to _not_ tuck him into my embrace and just hold on until the end of time, murmuring reassurances and endearments in his ear.

I reached out and gently tweaked his chin. "Then what's the hold up? Introduce us."

Duo very nearly _bounced _over to the elderly couple – a Guillaume and Pierra Juarez – and it was only as I shook their hands and murmured the socially-acceptable pleasantries that his enthusiasm suddenly failed to distract me from the nervous fluttering in my stomach. Watching Duo being exuberantly enfolded in Pierra's petite arms, I realized that these people were probably the closest thing to family Duo had. It would kill me if I disappointed Duo by disappointing _them._

"Don't be so anxious, Tristan dear," Pierra told me as I held the car door open for her. Duo was loudly informing Guillaume of the unfortunately bald state of his car's tires, so our exchange went unnoticed.

"I'm not…" The denial was automatic, but I fought it down. Duo was his real self with these people. He'd expect no less from me. "You and your husband are very dear to him," I said instead. Although he hadn't mentioned them before today, just watching him with them was enough for me to discern that much.

"But _you_ are more so," she argued, patting my arm. "In all the time he stayed with us, never did he look half this happy."

And then she left me standing there holding the door open as she slid into the passenger seat. The sound of the driver's side door closing snapped me out of my daze and I carefully shut Pierra's door before climbing into the backseat with Duo. I endeavored to keep my disquiet tightly restrained, but there was no denying that I was in unfamiliar territory. I flushed with sudden temper, wishing Duo had told me what to expect earlier. If he had, I would have been able to better prepare myself for this meeting and—

A touch on my knee drew my attention and I looked down at Duo's hand which rested there. His thumb brushed back and forth over the weave of my jeans even as he leaned forward to ask Pierra about her grown sons and their families. As she started giving the requested update, Duo glanced my way apologetically and mouthed two words at me: "Thank you."

I let out a breath and leaned back against the seat. I slid the hand closest to him under the edge of his jacket and pressed my palm against the small of his back. How could I be angry with him? He'd probably been as nervous on the train as I was now. Suddenly, I realized that he hadn't been all that sure of his reception, which was perhaps why he'd waited until he'd seen them at the station before telling me why we'd come here. He'd undoubtedly contacted Guillaume and Pierra in advance, but the unwanted child he'd once been wouldn't have trusted their welcome until he'd seen it with his own eyes.

It was a miracle that anyone with such deep and eternal emotional scars would trust me, a man who knew more about mobile suits and machine guns than how to care for another human being.

Thanks to the sandwiches we'd had on the train, we weren't especially hungry, but Pierra had prepared lunch for us and I was mesmerized by the look of ecstasy on Duo's face when he sampled his first spoonful of meat pie.

"Oh, Pierra," he enthused after chewing and swallowing. "How I have missed your magic!"

The pie was excellent, but it was difficult to enjoy at the moment as my stomach filled with envy. I wanted Duo to look like that when _I _did something for him. Part of me wanted to shoot someone, but the mercenary in me knew better. _Fight fire with fire._

I resolved on a plan of action and, after that, I was much better able to relax and enjoy the meal. Over coffee, Guillaume and Pierra requested the story of how Duo and I had first met.

"Uh, well, I told you that I fought in the war," Duo began, fidgeting with his coffee spoon.

"I did as well," I readily admitted, sensing that he wouldn't willingly speak of our shared past without my consent.

"Comrades in arms?" Guillaume guessed.

"Eventually," I told him. "If I remember correctly, we initially considered each other enemies."

"Dude! You'd just shot a half a dozen rounds from your suit's Machine Cannon at me!"

It would have taken considerably more than that to put so much as a dent in Deathscythe. "You and Yukitani were all bunched up. The enemy was moving in to flank you."

"Ever hear of something called a comm. unit?"

"That would be the thing you were using to whoop and holler at the enemy lines?"

His lips twitched into a smirk and his eyes sparkled with fire. "Yup."

"I'll keep it in mind for next time," I promised and took a sip of coffee.

Pierra reached for her husband's arm and patted his sleeve. She was beaming at us with pure delight, as if we'd just told her a story about two strangers, their chance meeting on a rainy day, and their impulsive decision to share an umbrella or a taxi.

"Guillaume, what was JC saying about the tires on the car?" she asked when it became clear that Duo had told as much of our story as he was comfortable sharing.

Duo answered before Guillaume could. "You really, _really_ need a new set. Hell, I'll even put 'em on for you."

"And how much is that going to cost me, son?" Guillaume bantered back.

Duo chuckled and lifted his plate as if the remains of the pie were made of gold and he was taking a weight measurement. "Well, let's say half now and half at dinner?"

"Oh, JC! We don't expect—!" Pierra protested.

Duo cut her off. "No, really. I'd be happy to do it."

And I knew he would be, too. Besides, it would give me the opportunity I needed to implement my plan. "Let him," I advised the Juarezes, "or else he'll just worry that it wasn't done right."

At the conclusion of coffee, Pierra offered to show me to the room I'd be spending the night in with Duo. As he was busy educating Guillaume on the difference between traditional rubber, neo-resin, and eco-wear tires, I took both our mostly-empty duffel bags down the hall.

"Pierra," I said before she could give me a few minutes to get settled, "thank you for opening your home to him then. And thank you for doing the same for both of us now."

"You are most welcome, Tristan."

"And, I have a favor to ask."

"Yes?"

I named it.

She smiled. She patted my arm, a satisfied twinkle in her eye. "Come and see me in a few hours."

I nodded and tried not to look too triumphant when I returned to the kitchen. I was quickly pulled into a discussion involving various kinds of tire tread. Colorful sales flyers had been dug out of the newspaper recycling bin and spread out over the kitchen table like a buffet for cars.

"Back me up, here, babe," Duo ordered, gesturing to the ads.

I didn't even have to look. "If it freezes here for more than a night at a time in winter, you don't want neo-resin. Get eco-wear only if you drive on asphalt or concrete – it's useless on dirt and gravel."

"See?" Duo concluded with a satisfied nod.

Guillaume sighed, picking up an ad for traditional rubber tires and making a moue of disgust at the price. "This is extortion," he grumbled.

"It would be if _you_ were paying for it," Duo told him.

Guillaume objected by removing his reading glasses and pointing the earpiece at him accusingly. "Now, see here, son, you're our guest and—"

"And I've got full-time employment now so there's no reason why I can't make some contribution to the household I spent twelve weeks in." Standing beside Duo as I was, I added my support to this claim by laying my hand on his waist. I could tell he felt strongly about this, and although it was going to make things tight for us until we received our first salary checks from the Preventers, I was proud of him for offering, and even prouder of him for insisting.

"Well," Guillaume eventually responded, "since Tristan's not going to back me up, I suppose a graceful acceptance is probably for the best."

I smiled. Clearly, Guillaume had extensive experience with Duo's stubborn streak.

Promising Pierra that we'd be back within the hour, the three of us climbed into the car. Duo narrated the town's highlights to me as we cruised down what appeared to be the main street and pulled into the circular drive of a junk yard and maintenance garage about ten minutes later.

"Did you tell 'em we were coming?" Duo asked Guillaume cryptically.

The elderly man shook his head. A sly smile in place, he admitted, "I didn't breathe a word."

"Hah! Awesome."

Before I could ask, Guillaume was braking to a stop and Duo was leaping out of the car. I was a little surprised that he merely rounded the vehicle and waited for me to exit instead of dashing into the building to holler, "Surprise!"

Although, if I took any longer getting out of the car, he might be tempted to just leave me here.

"I worked here for something like two months," he told me as I shut the car door behind me. An instant later, I felt his fingers tangle with mine. "C'mon. The grease monkeys are over yonder."

"Are they caged?" I muttered.

"If only," he replied with a manic grin.

When we ducked into the garage, our shadows fell upon a guy who was bent over an engine. He glanced up reflexively to see who was blocking his light and his scruffy, oil-smudged face stretched into a wide grin. "JC! Man, you're back!"

"Yo, Bernie," Duo replied. "I think you've gained another thirty-second of an inch on that duck fuzz."

The two other guys in the mechanic's bay looked up and crowed greetings of their own. "Raymond," Duo said gesturing, "and Jonas." That was all he had time to say before they descended on us.

"Guys," Duo said as the opening round of good-natured ribbing subsided into blatantly curious looks in my direction, "this is Tristan."

"Ah," Raymond said, stepping forward. "So you're the reason JC lit outta here like his ass was on fire."

"Actually, that'd be because you forgot to bathe for, like, a week and a half," Jonas joshed him. He turned to me and explained, "The only thing the guy ever washes is his bling."

"Good bling requires regular maintenance," I responded, earning a guffaw from Bernie and a look of camaraderie from the owner of the aforementioned accessories.

Raymond gestured to Duo's left hand. "Nice choice, by the way."

"Er, thanks," he replied awkwardly, and if he'd lived a life less tragic and unforgiving, he might have blushed.

"JC?" Guillaume called, poking his head into the bay. "I'm sorry to interrupt."

"Naw, it's cool. You need a hand picking out those tires?"

"If you wouldn't mind."

"No problem!"

Bernie raised a hand. "Hold up, man. How long are we gonna have to go before we see you around these parts again?"

Duo grinned. "These parts," he replied, glancing pointedly to the machinery scattered around the garage, "will be damn lucky to see the inside of a functioning _engine _again."

Bernie rolled his eyes.

Jonas muttered fondly, "Again with the bad puns. Is there no end to your cheese?"

"Nope." Duo was unrepentant. "We'll see you at church tomorrow morning."

"Count on it!"

I gestured Duo through the doorway first and Guillaume waved him over to the display of tires in the dusty showroom. I lingered behind, trying to think of something to say to the three men who had offered my husband some measure of friendship during his sojourn here.

Raymond spoke before I could assemble a sentence that didn't sound trite and hackneyed.

"Hey, maybe he didn't tell you, but he turned down the prettiest, nicest girl in town while he was here."

I blinked at him. Bernie and Jonas nodded earnestly, confirming the news. I wasn't quite sure what they expected me to say in response to that, so I just nodded.

"Thanks for bringing him back for a visit," Jonas said. He grinned. "It was nice meeting the _real _JC."

"Yeah, no kidding," Bernie concurred.

Raymond told me, "You be good to him. Or else."

I was a little surprised when the other two backed up Raymond's threat with a hard look in their eyes. Surprised, amused, and a little in awe of Duo's ability to inspire such loyalty in his friends, no matter how briefly they'd known him, I vowed, "You have my word." With a wry grin, I offered my hand. We shook and I didn't flinch at the feel of Raymond's grime-smeared fingers. Nor did I shy away from Jonas' or Bernie's.

They chuckled ruefully when they noticed how dirty I'd gotten just from that brief contact, but I merely said, "It's an occupational hazard I'm familiar with." And then, with a glance in Duo's direction, I added, "Thanks." It was only one word, and it didn't seem sufficient to the task of expressing my appreciation for how these three must have helped Duo through the months he'd been here, but it was all I could come up with.

"None needed," Jonas said and, with a nod, I left the garage.

Duo gave me an inquisitive glance when I rejoined him. "The hell, babe. Don't tell me you've taken up gossip as a hobby?"

"Only when it gives me leverage."

"Should I be worried?"

"Would you be even if I said you should?"

He grinned. "Hah! You know me so well."

I liked to think so, which was why I was so eager to get back to the house and get Duo started on changing Guillaume's tires. It wasn't really a job for two guys, not with only one hand-operated jack to work with. Guillaume happily volunteered to assist him so I melted into the background before retreating into the house where Pierra was waiting to make good on her promise.

She told me to roll up my shirt sleeves and wash my hands, and then we got started.

We had broiled steaks, a warm spinach salad, and paella for dinner. The look on Duo's face as he delicately tasted each for the first time was priceless.

"Oh… my… God…" he groaned. "Pierra, this is ambrosia."

"Yes, it did turn out rather well," she agreed and then, looking directly at me, volunteered, "Tristan has a natural talent for cooking."

Duo was in the middle or relishing another slice of steak when he paused, fork still in his mouth, and coughed. "Whu—?" he gurgled, looking at me with wide eyes.

I smiled. "Pierra is an excellent teacher."

He blinked at me. I don't think it was my imagination that he consumed his dinner more slowly than usual, taking care to enjoy every bite. It wasn't until we'd washed up, brushed our teeth, and bid out host and hostess goodnight that he remarked on it.

As soon as the bedroom door shut behind us, he put a hand on my arm and turned me toward him. The next thing I knew, his arms were around my waist and his face was buried in my shoulder.

"Tonight… Dinner… You didn't have to—" he began.

I lifted my hands and rubbed his back. "I wanted to. I want to make you happy." It really was that simple. If a well-cooked meal could put that expression of joy on his face, then I'd learn how to cook.

"You do. I'd be happy to eat cold stew outta-the-can and stale saltine crackers every day for the rest of my life as long as I've got you."

That was nice to know, but— "You don't have to."

"Christ, baby. You make me the luckiest man in the whole damn universe."

I chuckled, rubbing my cheek against his soft hair. "If you feel like mentioning that to the grease monkeys at church tomorrow, I wouldn't object."

"Huh?"

"They seem to be under the impression that I broke your heart."

"Nosey, gossiping bunch of grungy _girls,"_ he muttered and I realized that there was yet another reason for why I'd handed over my heart to Duo Maxwell on a silver platter: he made me laugh.

I was not laughing the following morning when, moments after Guillaume's sermon concluded, a very elegant young woman called out, "JC!"

"Hey! Alminda!" he replied, looking genuinely pleased to see her. Pleased and nothing more.

She, on the other hand, did not appear all that pleased to see _me._ From the veil of disappointment which muted her smile, I discerned that this was Farmville's prettiest girl. She was certainly striking and it left me a little dazed and breathless imagining – knowing? – that Duo had turned her down for _me._

"How's your grandmother?"

"No incidents with white rhinos recently," she reported.

"Maybe they've already gone south for the winter," he replied and then included me in the conversation. "Alminda, this is my husband, Tristan."

We shook hands. "A pleasure," I forced myself to say.

She gave me a stiff smile and I wondered if it was because she really _had _set her sights on my Duo or if she was picking up on my hostility. Duo certainly did.

"Tris, babe," he said quietly as we walked across the drive and around to the backyard of Guillaume and Pierra's house. "What _was_ that?"

"What was what?" I retorted, irritated that I was being called out for being territorial. I had that right. The ring on my finger and the ring on _his _finger gave it to me. So did our shared bed, the necklace that would only ever be removed from my neck over my dead body, and fact that Duo never stood as close to anyone else as he did to me. He'd _chosen_ me. I had a right to defend that if I saw fit.

He sat down on the porch swing and speared me with a look. "Alminda."

"Raymond mentioned you turned her down," I said as I sat next to him.

He sighed. "Those guys. Must be nice to have selective amnesia."

That did not sound promising at all. I tensed.

Duo explained before I could do more than dread asking him for details. "Raymond tried to set us up. Busybody matchmaker mechanic." He met my gaze. "I was never interested in anyone except you. Hell," he continued, looking away in embarrassment, "when I was here, I freakin' _dreamed_ about you."

"You did?" The words came out flat, squished under the weight of disbelief. Had I meant that much to him even then? In the midst of his search for his true self, he'd still kept a part of me with him as a guest in his dreams?

He nodded, his shoulders slumping in defeat. "It hurt to wake up."

Aching, I reached for my voice to tell him of my own solitary trials but, when no sound emerged, I reached for his hand instead and he gripped my fingers hard. We'd never talked about those weeks we'd been apart. I'd been determined to forget they'd ever happened, but perhaps he needed to know. I would tell him, I decided. When our hearts were not so raw, I would lay down my meager memories for him as he was now doing for me.

But I had never asked him about his time away, which made me wonder what had prompted this confession in the first place. "Why are you telling me this?" I asked out of curiosity rather than out of disappointment or defeat.

His lips, always so mobile and expressive, pursed thoughtfully. He looked off in the distance and sighed. "We've shared just about every day of our lives for the past four years one way or another," he told me in a soft tone. "It felt… wrong that you wouldn't know about all this."

"Thank you," I replied just as quietly, "for sharing it with me."

He nodded, and when I slouched down and leaned my head against his, he leaned back.

We stayed for lunch. Pierra taught me how to make beef stew and biscuits while Duo looked on, fascinated by my solemn attention to her instructions and advice. When I glanced up from browning the cubes of meat, his gaze drifted up my bare forearms until we were locked in a staring contest. "Looks good," he told me, his eyes sparkling, and I could not wait to get him home tonight.

We left after Duo finished gorging himself. I wasn't sure how often I'd take the time to stock and utilize the kitchen in our house in Clifden and cooking was strictly prohibited in our housing unit at HQ, but seeing his appreciation of what I'd made soothed over some raw place inside me that I'd had for so long I couldn't remember when it had yawned into existence.

Guillaume and Pierra both made us promise to consider spending Christmas with them. "I haven't shown you how to roast a ham!" she told me, giving me a preview of the winter holiday menu. Before I could reply to that, she threw her arms around me and gave me a brisk hug, complete with a kiss on each cheek.

"We'll be back," I impulsively promised.

"Admit it," Duo dared me softly as we shared a bench seat on the train. "You liked them. A _lot."_

"I admit it." It was an easy confession to make, especially with Duo leaning against my shoulder and clasping my hand on top of his thigh.

"And you're seriously thinking about spending Christmas with them," he pressed.

I was, but I didn't think we actually would. Guillaume and Pierra's children and their families would undoubtedly be there as well. I had no desire whatsoever to intrude on that.

_"And,"_ he continued with charming persistence, "you feel better now that you know where I was after I left."

He was right. I did. I blinked once, frowning slightly, before wondering aloud, "How did you know?" I hadn't even known it myself.

"You're a hoarder," he answered, as if that explained everything.

Hm. Maybe it did. "Thanks for filling in the blanks, darling," I whispered as the train rocked along and we watched the sun set through the window.

"Anytime, babe. Anytime."

* * *

NOTES:

That really is how Duo and Trowa met. Duo and Heero went to the Alliance's New Edwards Base and started kicking ass, then Trowa and Quatre showed up and Trowa fired at Duo and Heero to get them to take up better positions because they "were all bunched up". Mercs, yummmm. Then, once the battle settled down, Duo went at Trowa and they started duking it out. Yeow-cha-wowa. Grrrrrowl. Boy oh boy do I love seeing Trowa fight with that retractable Army Knife deal he's got up his Gundam's "sleeve" during the series.

This story was prompted thanks to a comment by TB, who remarked (off-handedly) that it was too bad Trowa couldn't see Duo in "Farmville" (which is featured in Chapter 15 of "Two out of Three").

The last line of the story is used brilliantly in Calic0cat's 1+2+1 story, "Anytime".


	3. Friends Old and New

WARNINGS: **RATED T** for language, reference to shounen ai (YAOI, which means male/male sexytiems)

DISCLAIMER: I don't own the boys, the Gundams, the copyrights, or the patents. But the snappy one-liners are mine, all mine (unless indicated otherwise in the chapter notes).

* * *

**Friends, Old and New**

_Follows "Two out of Three" – Duo refuses to give up on a friendship. Trowa helps Heero understand. Heero POV. Takes place while Trowa and Duo are training to become pilots for the Preventers. (Direct sequel to "Filling in the Blanks".)_

* * *

"Well, lookit who I found!"

I didn't bother to look up from the dumbbell I was currently executing my twentieth bicep curl with; I'd seen him poke his head in the gym and look around. As such, I was now watching him zero in on me and stroll over like he owned the place, but that was Duo all over. It was obvious that he treated public spaces like they were his. I suppose that came from having grown up with nothing. If he could write "Maxwell was here" in permanent marker on every damn thing he laid his eyes on, he undoubtedly would, just for his own amusement.

"Are you lost?" I asked.

"Nope," he answered, grinning at me. He plopped himself down on the bench across from mine. "I was lookin' for you, _Gerald_-buddy."

I spared him a brief look.

He held up his hands. "No, really! You know how training is for the newbies. They schedule our freakin' potty breaks."

I remembered. Still, that didn't explain why I'd seen neither hide nor hair of him last weekend when I _knew _he and Trowa had been given time off.

Duo answered my glare, awkwardly clearing his throat: "We went out of town last weekend."

Of course. Because the damn honeymoon wasn't over yet. Honeymoon. What a joke. The whole thing was a joke. A very old joke and it wasn't funny or cute anymore.

I set the dumbbell down and stretched before picking it back up and starting thirty reps with the opposite arm.

"Why are you here?"

"Uh, did I mention I was looking for you? I coulda sworn I—"

Through gritted teeth, I demanded, "I _meant,_ why aren't you with Tristan?" Wasn't that who he ought to be with if things were so perfect and wonderful?

"Because I wanted to talk to _you."_

I grunted. "About what?"

He planted his hands on the bench's vinyl padding and leaned back. "Been a while since we hit the mat, eh?"

"Whose fault is that?"

"Mine," he admitted with startling honesty.

I looked up at him. His grin was the same, but his hair was too short. The laidback pose was familiar, but a silver wedding band now winked at the world from his left ring finger.

Suddenly, it was just too much. I exploded: "And you think that by _talking, _things are going to go back to _normal?"_ I scoffed. "Things are _never _going to be normal again!"

"Now we're gettin' somewhere," he muttered. He leaned forward, dangling his hands between his knees, and dared, "What's saltin' your C-ration, man? That I didn't include you on the mission from the start or that I chose Tristan instead?"

I tossed the dumbbell down. Fuck the thirty reps. If I kept the weight in my hand, I was probably going to cave Duo's face in when I punched him about ten seconds from now. "You don't get it," I growled.

"So educate me, man."

I pointed an accusing finger at him. "You're straight. What the _hell_ are doing with Tristan?"

He frowned, surprise opening his expression to me. This was the only way I knew how to get the truth from him. Threats, violence, humor, none of it shoved aside his damn mask long enough for me to get a reading on him. Straight-out asking, though, that usually worked. Probably because he didn't expect me to care enough to bother.

But I did care. I cared about both him and Trowa. The first time I'd met Duo, he'd not only saved Relena, he'd saved me from making a terrible mistake. And Trowa had saved my life, period. He'd stayed by my side for weeks upon weeks: he was there through my convalescence, offering his nonjudgmental support as I'd tried to make reparations for the damage I'd done at New Edwards, even taking point when our enemies had closed in around us. Semper fi.

"You're going to kill him," I told Duo.

"No," he answered, his eyes darkening, his expression hardening, "but I'd kill _for _him."

I could probably argue that he'd kill for any one of us. Duo was that kind of friend, which was why I was so angry with him for this betrayal.

"Just listen," he demanded, sliding forward to the very edge of the bench and squaring off with me. "I dunno if that shit they talk about in those cheesy love stories is true – I dunno if there's one special person for everyone on the planet – but I _do _know this: Tristan is it for me." He glared at me, "So stop actin' like I'm the Goddamn enemy."

I sat back, blinking. "I haven't been—"

"Yes, _Gerald._ You have."

Well… fine. Maybe I _had._ I sighed. I did my best to just let it go. I still didn't understand how Duo could be serious about staying with Trowa for the rest of their lives, but he'd made it clear that it was out of my hands and none of my business.

I picked the dumbbell back up and continued with my reps. "Why do you say my name like that?" I asked instead.

"Like what?"

"Sneering."

"Oh." He paused to think about it. "Well, I guess it's because you're something like thirty years too young for people to take it seriously."

I checked and his rueful expression was truthful. He wasn't holding onto a grudge. He honestly thought the name didn't suit me. "What do you suggest?"

"What, you mean like a nickname?" He shook his head, his smile twisting into a bemused expression. "Like 'Ger' or 'Gerry'?" He snorted. "Come on. You'd put your fist through my teeth if I used either of those."

I probably would.

"So, Gerald," he began, his tone fresh and previous subject discarded. "You. Me. Wrestling mat. 1730 hours tomorrow?"

"Sure."

"Awesome. Bring your game, buddy!"

"Hm."

Cackling, he strolled out of the gym. It was dinnertime. I should probably be following him. I finished the thirty reps, stretched, picked up after myself, and headed out.

Trowa was waiting for me in the hall, leaning against the wall beside the door, hands tucked into the pockets of his trainee cargo pants.

I gave him a look and a nod. When all I got was a glance for my trouble, I started down the hall. If he had something to say, he'd say it.

When he straightened and fell into step with me, I took it down from a brisk march to a time-efficient stride.

"I know you don't understand him," Trowa said, cutting right to the heart of the issue like always. His particular brand of insight has never slashed open wounds on the soul like Wufei's, but it had the capability to reach deep and settle there like a grenade in your psyche and you were never sure when or if it was going to explode.

"Some days, I don't understand him, either," he admitted.

I glanced at him again and saw a hint of a tender smile through his shifting hair. I didn't have to look to know that his gaze was turned inward, toward Duo.

It was unsettling to think that two people could live like that: each of them so deep inside the other. It went beyond being able to anticipate your comrade's moves. It transcended reading your enemy's intentions in the nuances of his tone and expression. This was something different. Something I had no reckoning of.

"Are you happy?" I asked gruffly.

"Yes," he answered simply. "It's time to stand down, Gerald, and move on to the next fight."

The part of me that locked its jaws onto uncertainties and refused to relinquish its quarry was finally at ease. We rode the elevator up to the residential floor. I stepped out before he did.

"And Gerald," he called softly.

I turned, frowning at the sight of him holding the elevator door open from the inside of the cab. "What?"

"If you bruise my husband on the mat tomorrow, I'll eat your spleen for lunch. Have a nice day."

The door closed and the elevator light retreated down to the food court level as I threw my head back and laughed. There probably weren't many people who thought Trowa Barton was at his funniest when he was dead serious.

Shaking my head and chuckling with residual humor, I headed for my housing unit for a quick shower and a change of clothes. When I opened the door, the light from the hall fell across something pale in my mail slot. I picked it up. It was a letter. There was nothing written on the outside of the envelope to indicate that I was the intended recipient. It was still sealed shut.

I closed the door and turned on the light before I tore it open and pulled out a single sheet of paper. Unfolding it, I read:

* * *

_Dear Gerald,_

_How are you? I hope you don't mind that I wrote you a letter. Agent Schbeiker said that she'd give it to you._

_I've started school. There are a lot of kids in my class. I know they're all my age, but they're so young. They don't know anything about war or peace. You do, though, so I'm glad I can write to you. It's lonely here._

_You're probably not lonely. You have your friends nearby. I think you're very lucky._

_I have to do my homework now. We're studying the ecosystem in science class. It's boring. I know all this already._

_Please write me back._

_Sincerely,_

_Mia_

* * *

I sat down in the nearest chair. I felt myself smile and it felt… strange. I didn't have to look in a mirror to know that my lips mirrored the shape of Trowa's when he'd been thinking about Duo in the hall ten minutes ago. And, since I didn't have to look, I wasn't forced to confirm it.

"Mia," I said, distracting myself with the sound of it. It was a good name for a girl whose father _and_ grandfather were far too famous right now. I wondered what new last name she'd chosen to hide behind.

I pulled out a sheet of paper from the notepad in the desk and clicked open a pen.

* * *

_Dear Mia,_

_New schools can be hard, but your classmates are trying to be friendly. I know how annoying that is._

_You're right that I know a lot about war. Peace is a new subject for me and that's what I'm studying now. Sometimes it seems like an impossible theory. Do you think peace is natural, like an ecosystem? Or does it have to be made by people?_

_Thank you for writing to me. I will ask Agent Schbeiker to give this letter to you. You can write me again if you want._

_Your friend,_

* * *

I hesitated over the signature. Glancing back at the letter I'd received, I thought back to Duo's remark about my name. Did I want to be that old, that serious, that unapproachable… to Mia?

I sighed out a breath and smiled. No, it was time to turn over a new leaf.

I signed the letter.

_Your friend,_

_Ger_

* * *

NOTES:

Heero's exchange with Trowa was inspired by a request from Kaeru Shisho, who asked that Duo overhear Trowa telling Heero how happy he was with Duo. Well, I don't specifically say that Duo _wasn't _eavesdropping…

Oh, and Trowa's threat to eat Heero's spleen for lunch is a reference to TooT, Chapter 2. That's basically word-for-word what Duo said would happen if Heero bruised him (i.e. Duo) on the wrestling mat: "Do not bruise me. If I end up _limping_ to the altar, Trowa will eat your spleen for lunch."


	4. A Little Healthy Competition

WARNINGS: **RATED M** for language, YAOI (which means male/male sexytiems)

DISCLAIMER: I don't own the boys, the Gundams, the copyrights, or the patents. But the snappy one-liners are mine, all mine (unless indicated otherwise in the chapter notes).

* * *

**A Little Healthy Competition**

_Follows "Two out of Three" – Duo and Trowa have obstacles and challenges to overcome before they are official employees of the Preventers. In a word: training. Duo POV._

* * *

Training was gonna be hell. I mean, _seriously._ I could see it in my future already. There'd be blisters and there was gonna be blood. Rope burns, bruises, snot, spit, and sweat. There were gonna be early mornings with cups of very bad coffee and reddened, itchy, watery eyes. There were gonna be late nights of text which blurred and danced away from your every attempt to comprehend it.

But what about tears? That's what you're just _dying _to know, right? Were there gonna be any of those? Well, not if I had anything to say about it.

"Sonuva_bitch!"_ I hissed, grabbing for the back of my thigh as I stumbled across the white finish line.

Trowa's arm went around my waist and I did my best to help him half-drag me over to the side of the track. "Here, sit," he instructed, lowering me to the turf. "Hamstring?" he inquired but he kinda sounded like he already knew.

I gritted my teeth and nodded. I focused on not letting the tearing, searing pain boil out in the form of a scream. It took more than a twitchy muscle to make Duo Maxwell scream. It took more than a twitchy muscle to make his successor, Joe "JC" Cross, scream, too. Trowa's hands nudged mine out of the way and I just curled my fingers into fists and tried to focus on what a nice day we were having. Or had been having. A lovely day for ripping muscle right off the bone. Ho hum.

"You just _have_ to have such long damn legs," I bit out, giving up on philosophical abstraction as he began an excruciating but necessary massage.

"And you just had to match me stride for stride," he replied.

The hell. Of course I did. "We're partners," I choked out.

"Equality," he murmured softly, clearly keeping in mind that our instructor was fast approaching now that the other members of our training class had all managed to cross the finish line, "does not necessarily mean fifty-fifty in everything."

They were wise words, but I wanted to be as close to being Trowa's equal in every way as I possibly could. "I want it to," I told him.

"I know," he said, and then he was giving a report to our scowling instructor. I summoned up a grin for the occasion and blinked the moisture out of my eyes. The pain was actually getting better now. If I was careful for the rest of the day, I might not even have a limp to show for it tomorrow.

But Trowa wasn't anywhere near done with me. After an afternoon spent taking notes in a sterile conference-room-turned-classroom, he steered me up to our housing unit, handed me a power bar and then went to run me a hot bath. I soaked. I dozed. It was a bit lonely but, what the hell. It wasn't as if I was gonna make Tro sit on the toilet seat and talk to me while I pruned.

When I got out, I discovered why he hadn't come in to check on me. He'd smuggled takeout from the food court up to our room, so I had a hot meal out of paper boxes. Then, he shoved at me until I was sprawled out over our bed as he gave my poor leg a masterful massage.

Oh, Christ was he talented. Let me count the ways...

"Hey, now," I objected playfully when his callused fingers hooked into the waistband of my shorts and started dragging them down. I didn't actually put up any resistance (in fact, I accommodatingly lifted my hips which was a pretty miraculous effort considering the fact that his masseuse skills had turned me into Duo pâté) but since when do I let a good chance to heckle the sexiest man in the universe pass me by? "Injured man here."

"I'll be gentle."

I didn't doubt it for an instant. I argued another point instead, "I thought it was the winner who was gonna get the, ah, spoils."

He tossed my shorts over the side of the bed and, sliding his warm hands up the inside of my thighs, pressed my legs apart with an impressive show of strength and determination. I shuddered. "We both win," he growled against the small of my back.

Whoo boy was he right about that. I'm not sayin' he gave me a _thorough_ or _in-depth_ demonstration or anything, but I finally clued in to why it drove him crazy when I used my tongue. Oh my freakin' God of everlasting bureaucratic hell. Um, _wow._ Before he was through with me, I was wholeheartedly hoping that they hadn't skimped on the soundproofing in the housing units.

"OK," I declared later when Trowa was dozing and drooling on my shoulder, "either we move out as soon as we finish training and get our own place nearby—" Which we were gonna make damn sure was decently soundproofed. "—or we're gonna be racking up a _lot _of frequent flier miles going back to Clifden for our days off." There was nuthin' like a nice buffer zone of countryside between you and your neighbors to really put a guy at ease, y'know?

Trowa grunted. "We're going to be on call for ten days at a time."

I guess that remark was meant to nix the apartment idea. I chuckled up at the ceiling. "Right. I'll sign us up for Air Ireland club memberships."

God knows we'd be needing 'em.

By midway through our first week of cadet school, Trowa and I were getting long-suffering looks from our instructors. You know the look, right? The Christ-this-guy's-gonna-drive-me-to-drink-paint-thinner-mixed-with-hard-liquour look. And not for the reason you're thinking! Tro and I didn't slack off. Not at all. In fact, in the classroom our rivalry was stronger than ever.

"…does anyone know?" our instructor posed, launching the inquiry into the classroom like he was tossing clay pigeons. I didn't know the answer. Hell, I hadn't even heard the question. I'd been focusing on getting an earlier note jotted down legibly in the margins of my training manual.

Beside me, Trowa elegantly lifted a hand.

My response was automatic. My hand shot up, too. Higher and with more dramatic flair than his.

"Mr. Cross?" our instructor prompted.

Shit.

"Um, hold that thought while I check an' see if Armstrong actually knows what he thinks he knows," I said with a great deal of charm. I glanced at Trowa in time to see him roll his eyes at me.

"The fourth amendment to the international armistice of After Colony 199?" he hinted.

I nudged his knee with mine in thanks as I rattled off the corresponding legalese. Yeah, that's my Tro. He never holds a grudge, even when he could. He does, however, keep track of favors. _You owe me,_ his sidelong look said.

And I knew I was gonna be paying up later. I grinned. I was looking forward to it.

It was harder to look forward to lunches spent slouched over our training manuals as we blindly shoved sustenance in our mouths, but somehow those were nice times, too. It was usually just Trowa and me. I guess, with us being married and all, plus with us both already slated to be partners in a permanent flight crew, that sorta set us apart.

And then there were the battle simulation courses. Also known as the BS courses. Probably because they were ridiculously difficult to get through without taking virtual damage that knocked points off your score which gave lots of cadets ample opportunity to loudly object, "This is _bullshit!"_

Well, _I _didn't think it was bullshit. I freakin' _loved _those Goddamn courses. More than was healthy.

"We really need to work on this obsession of yours," Trowa informed me as we suited up for our turn in this week's maze from hell.

I cackled gleefully. "Ya think?"

"Yes. I do." But he was smiling, so I knew he didn't mean it.

Seriously, it was like nothing else in the world to feel my Shinigami stalking the warzone beside Trowa's Silencer. The raw potential that the two of us embodied – the potential to wreak havoc, to destroy, to recreate – was seductive in and of itself, but the adversity made it all the sweeter. This was the blessed state of grace I'd dared to hope for when I'd asked him to marry me four and a half months ago. Little did I know how much I'd come to crave the downtime in between can-crankin' ass-kicking awesome.

Downtime was a distant dream of a forgotten empire now. _Now _– at this very moment – we were chin-deep in The Course, and it had been brilliantly designed to be an utterly miserable experience. That must be why I loved it so freakin' much.

On this particular assignment, we were sent out in the dead of night. It was cold – an early cold front had blown in that morning – and it was also raining.

I slipped through the night, sensing Trowa just two steps behind as we moved from shadow to shadow, navigating the maze at its lowest level rather than risking an aerial assault by climbing up to get a bird's eye view. There were search lights sweeping over the course constantly. The risk of discovery was too great until we found decent, high-level cover that let us mimic the surrounding environment.

I pressed back into the darkest of the shadows, shoulder to shoulder with Tro. We signed out a plan between us to approach the token of victory which fluttered from the top of the flagpole at the center of the course.

"How d'ya wanna capture it this time?" I waggled my brows at him in the gloom.

Trowa gave me a tiny grin. "Follow my lead."

Rather than dashing into the center of the course, dodging a hail of paint balls and laser hits, we slunk through the shadows until we came up against one of the debris-covered towers that had blocked our initial approach. A little appropriated rope, a crash-bang-boom from a tumbling stack of slippery-when-wet cargo boxes, and a crushed flagpole later, I was tucking the pennant into Tro's back pocket as we booked our asses back to "base" before the "enemy" launched a counter attack.

Was it wrong of me to liken those times to playground escapades? Maybe. But if the twinkle in Trowa's eyes was any indication, he had one helluva good time, too.

"We're never gonna be able to have a normal date, are we?" I teased him when he backed me up against the wall of our apartment. Hell, the door hadn't even finished sliding shut before my utility belt was hitting the floor and Trowa was peeling my soaked, black turtleneck up my torso.

"It still might be possible," he allowed, tossing my sopping-wet shirt aside. I took advantage of the opening to start in on his buckles and buttons.

"Yeah, well, I guess we'll see about that some other time." We were a bit busy with indulging in a different kind of tradition, one that I was sensing had a helluvalotta potential.

In the team exercises, no one was able to come anywhere _near _beating Trowa and me, not on accuracy, objectives met, or shortest time. We were lethal. Well, inasmuch as we could be when there were sawdust-stuffed dummies and nylon flags involved. After ten weeks of painfully dry reading, adrenaline-pumping action, and a general lack of time to do anything other than eat, sleep, and take a dump, our final scores confirmed our position at the top of our class. We aced the tests. We finished the Last Day mile with the same time. Trowa scored higher than me in strength training and the high jump. I scored higher than him on the chaotic, solo-op obstacle course, wiggling my way to the lead. So, in the end, we came out neck and neck as far as numbers went.

I'd never been happier to _not _win. Maybe our competition had been at little juvenile, but I knew now, without a shadow of a doubt, what his physical limits were. I knew how he functioned under pressure, how quickly he integrated data, and what kinds of things were more likely to stick in his long-term memory better than others. And he knew the exact same things about me.

I had no words to express how much that meant to me. Hell, any two strangers could fall in love and get married. It took _magic _to make two people _get_ each other like we did.

We were ready to be partners. Really ready. For real.

Now we just had the damn induction ceremony deal to endure.

I bit back a sigh as the lead instructor droned on and on about the potential of each graduate and the fragility of peace and yada yada yada. Freakin' hell. Throughout the first thirty minutes of the ceremony, I'd been sitting attentively in my seat like a good little Preventer, happy to be here and eager to serve, but now my brain was starting to petrify in my skull.

Biting back a sigh, I slouched down a bit in my folding chair and reached into the pocket of my Preventer-issued khakis. I pulled out my cell phone and keyed in a brief text message:

_/Boxers or briefs today?/_

I sent it to Trowa and waited. He was sitting two seats down from me as there was exactly that number of cadets with names that fell alphabetically between ours, so I couldn't hear his cell vibrate from inside his trouser pocket. He leaned forward a bit and sent one of those hot, glittering sidelong glances my way as he flipped open his phone and texted back.

_/Behave and you'll find out./_

I replied. /_You like it when I misbehave./_

He answered. /_No. I love it when you misbehave./_

I smirked. /_Ninmu ryokai./_

_/Cute and evil. Some guys have it all./_

_/I sure do. And his name is Tristan./_

_/He must be a lucky guy./_

_/Definitely./_ I sent that message, and then, as the speech-monger continued on and I waited impatiently for the part that was coming up, the part where he announced the top graduate (or, in our case, the top two), I considered Trowa's luck a bit more and added: /_Our ranking is the same. No fair they call your name first./_

_/No one consulted me when they fixed the order of the alphabet./_

I teased: /_Like it would've turned out any differently if they had./_

_/Well, this way, you can appreciate the view./_

_/I have much love for khakis./_ Much, much love for khakis. This was a historic fact backed up by precedent.

_/Prove it./_

_/You betcha./_

"Tristan Armstrong and Joseph Cross!"

Ah, finally! We stood and approached the stage, Trowa leading the way and me appreciating the view. At the summit, we saluted; we accepted the congratulations and certificate of appointment; we stepped to the side so the next cadet could be called. We were officially Preventers. I was tempted to search the crowd, but I knew I didn't have to; Heero, Quatre, and Wufei were out there in the audience somewhere. And as soon as all the beribboned rolls of fancy paper were handed out, Trowa and I were gonna be joining them.

It all came together in this moment: at long last, not only had we become colleagues of men we respected and trusted, but Trowa and I were now, officially, a team. If the wedding had been the prelude, then this was the chapter in which the hero suits up before going out and kicking ass to awesome theme music.

When we were excused from the stage, I made sure Trowa and I got a bit "lost" in the crowd. I tugged him around the corner of the bleachers of the gymnasium and came up with an excuse to mess up his neck tie just so I could try to fix it for him.

"And you call me insatiable," he rumbled when I let him have unfettered use of his mouth.

There were lots of great comebacks for an opening like that, but what I said was: "Short attention span."

_"And_ impatient," he reminded me and then rewarded me with a kiss.

My manic snorts of humor disrupted it, though. "We're making out under the bleachers… in _uniform!"_

"You say that like it's a bad thing."

"It is. I can see Wufei."

"Does he look happy?"

"Er…"

But we needn't have worried. Wufei didn't tell on us. Hell, he was too busy pretending he hadn't seen my hand on Trowa's ass.

"If this is a preview of your navigation abilities aboard actual aircraft, I may have to resign myself to taking the train," he drawled with one of those sour expressions that made me want to poke him in the belly just to see if he'd squeak. Y'know, _before _he killed me with his bare hands.

"You hear that? No faith," I complained to Trowa. "No faith at all."

Trowa smirked and dared to suggest to Wufei, "Maybe our course wasn't off at all."

"Which is far more disturbing a scenario to contemplate," Wufei rebutted.

"Congratulations!" Quatre enthused, squirming under the stands to give us both a back-slapping hug at the same time.

"Th-thanks," I coughed. A motion near Wufei drew my gaze and I found Heero looking at us with this weird, exasperated grin on his face.

"I am not going to ask, so let's get going," Heero decreed and then turned on his heel to march out of the gym-turned-auditorium. Wufei fell into step with him and Quatre pulled Trowa and I along with impressive tenacity.

Our friends were awesome. They were deadly, highly-intelligent, and loyal to a fault. They were the best. They were also cutting into my celebratory time with Trowa.

I tried not to let the pout show.

"Disappointed?" Trowa murmured in my ear as he held the door open for me.

"Do I have reason to be?"

He shrugged. "Look at it this way: you'll have three beers' worth of time to decide which wicked way you want to have with me."

"Three beers. You've got yourself a deal."

I knew I wasn't imagining the feel of his hand ghosting over my hip as I passed. Oh, yeah. He thought he was so fuckin' stealthy. Well, we'd just see about that. I was the Stealth Master and I had the time it'd take to drink three beers to prove it.

I grinned and Quatre bumped my elbow, giving me a look that invited me to share the joke. He might get it, but I didn't particularly wanna clue him in. I just shrugged apologetically and tweaked Trowa's belt buckle when no one was looking.

Yeah, a little healthy competition was good for us. It was damn good.

And so was everything else.

* * *

NOTES:

This fic was inspired in part by another comment courtesy of TB, who remarked that (given Duo's upbringing) he may have been proposing something more along the lines of a "power" partnership with Trowa when he'd proposed marriage because, for Duo, a male/male partnership would make sense in those terms. Growing up on the streets, Duo would have seen a lot of power games being played out between people and I believe his version of an ideal relationship would be one in which both people brought something of equal value to the table, so to speak. And, where Duo comes from, those offerings would be directly related to survival and self-empowerment. So, that's the deal with "A Little Healthy Competition." I'm not suggesting that Duo doesn't love Trowa (far from it), but this "power" partnership is really important to Duo. As he says, "Any two strangers could fall in love and get married" which is what he and Trowa did, but he doesn't want that to be the be-all and end-all of their marriage. For Duo, marriage is for life and life is about facing down adversity without flinching.


	5. A Moment of Truth

WARNINGS: Rated K for language & shounen ai

SPOILERS: Two out of Three _Chapter 3: Love Songs for the Genuinely Cunning_ & _Chapter 5: Setting in a Honeymoon_

DISCLAIMER: I don't own the boys, the Gundams, the copyrights, or the patents. But the snappy one-liners are mine, all mine (unless indicated otherwise in the chapter notes).

* * *

**A Moment of Truth**

_Follows "Two out of Three" – Duo has some old business to discuss with Quatre. Quatre POV. Takes place after Duo and Trowa become a two-man flight team for the Preventers. Quatre works in Operations Management._

* * *

"Quatre. We need to talk."

I looked up at the sound of Duo's voice. Thanks in part to the massive pile of digital notepads and paper file folders I had in my possession, everyone else had already cleared out of the meeting room. The mission briefing I'd presented had gone well, I'd thought, but something told me Duo wasn't about to offer his congratulations.

I studied him as I tidied up, noting how he leaned back against the closed door in his usual, lackadaisical pose, but his expression was nearly as blank as Trowa's had once been back at the beginning of the war, back before he'd found the other half of his soul in Duo.

"About what?" I asked, resisting the urge to reach up and rub my chest. I knew it was my tell and I didn't want Duo to know I could feel all the tension in him. I had to fight against fisting my hand. My fingers twitched. Duo's gaze flickered downward and his brows went up; he'd noticed.

"You already know about what," he replied, turning the lock on the door and returning to his seat at the conference table. He leaned his elbows on its surface, steepling his fingers.

I let out a breath at the look in his eyes. He was serious. Deadly serious.

"When did you find out about Trowa's feelings for me?"

I startled; I hadn't heard Trowa's name spoken aloud in months, not since we'd been given the option of accepting new identities. I hadn't been surprised that Trowa had elected to become Tristan Armstrong. Sharing a name with Dekim Barton would have turned anyone's stomach.

"Quatre," Duo insisted, staring me down.

"Do you remember when we all used to work out at the gym together?"

"Yeah," he replied with a surprising amount of restraint. There was no witty rejoinder, no brash remark forthcoming. He simply answered and waited for me to continue.

It had been Duo's idea, actually, for all of us to meet in the gym at least once a week. The five of us had kept it up until I'd gotten buried in paperwork, and Wufei had retreated to the temple to meditate more and more frequently, and Trowa… I swallowed. After a few months, I suspected that it had just gotten too difficult for Trowa to hide his feelings, to resist the relentless pull of Duo's unintentional charisma upon his heart.

I reminded him, "That first time, you worked up a schedule for all of us so no one would be left out completely."

I distinctly recalled getting a lesson from Wufei on basic karate forms while Heero had worked with the dumbbells and Duo had held a punching bag for Trowa. Then Trowa had spotted Wufei when he'd moved on to lifting weights and Heero and Duo had wrestled while I'd climbed onto a treadmill machine. At some point, Heero and Wufei had squared off on the mat and I'd joined Trowa in the pool for a swim. Duo hadn't actually swum with us. After changing into his swimwear, he'd floated on his back in his own lane.

"Congratulations, Tro-man," I could remember Duo saying when the three of us had eventually climbed out of the pool.

"On?"

"Winning."

"What?"

Duo had rolled his eyes. "The swim race." He'd reached out and clapped Trowa on the shoulder.

"You were keeping track?" I'd asked, blinking. And then I'd blushed; I'd just admitted to trying to out-stripe Trowa on the lanes.

"Sure!" Duo had exclaimed. "And a good thing I was, too, or _you_ mighta cheated, Q-ball." I'd gaped in astonishment. He'd winked and gestured toward the changing rooms. "C'mon guys. Dinner awaits! But Champion Trowa gets first dibs, so no cutting in line, pal."

"Duo!" I'd started to object, following after him, torn between amusement and indignation. Trowa seemed hesitant to join us and, when I'd glanced back and had seen the look in his eyes, a revelation had hit me right, square in the chest.

The whole day, all of it had been Duo looking after Trowa, making sure Trowa was included in our group, making sure the five of us _were _a group, making sure Trowa knew it. And, by the look on his face at that moment, he had. He'd known it. And he'd fallen in love with the mastermind behind it.

Normally, I try to keep out of other people's emotions. Sometimes it's hard. Sometimes what they feel is forced upon me and I can barely manage to breathe around it. I couldn't say with any certainty that _that _day over four years ago was when Trowa had started falling for Duo Maxwell, but it was the first time he hadn't been able to – or hadn't cared to – hide it from me.

I confessed this to Duo now, speaking quietly as I shared this confidence.

Duo, to his credit, simply listened.

"And now you're upset," I summarized with no small amount of regret.

"Winner," he began and I braced myself for what was sure to come next. "You told me, just before the wedding, that you'd never seen him so happy."

I remembered.

"And you told me it was clear that I felt the same."

I winced. Yes, I'd tried to manipulate Duo, but only with the best of intentions! I'd only wanted him to open his own eyes, to look inside himself, and see if he could find happiness with Trowa. I bit back a sigh. I knew he was waiting for an explanation and I knew it was going to sound condescending, but I had to try. "Duo, please understand—"

"I do," he interrupted. "And, as it turned out, you were right. Eventually."

"What…?" My chest twinged and I dared to look up. Duo was smiling softly.

"Thank you," he said, "for not telling him I was such a self-absorbed mess, for not telling him I didn't feel the same, that I might never or couldn't."

I blinked.

He continued, "You didn't warn him off, even though you could have." Pausing, he dropped his gaze and took a deep breath. "He would have listened to you, if you had."

I feared Duo might be right about that, but I shook my head. "No. No, it wasn't my place to say." I stopped, took a deep breath, and tried to express exactly what I'd been thinking that half year ago. "He deserved a chance to win your heart, and I knew he'd never take it on his own." Just as I'd known Duo would never _see_ it on his own.

It was true that I'd lied by omission. I could have told Trowa that Duo wasn't in love with him, was painfully confused and battling his own demons every step of the way during that mission. But what I hadn't been able to tell him was that Duo would _never _love him, and as long as there'd been a chance that Trowa's feelings might one day be reciprocated, I'd had no right to steer him away from the course he'd set.

"I'd hoped you and he would…" I waved my hands in an aimless gesture. It wasn't necessary that I articulate the rest of that thought; it was pretty self-evident.

Duo nodded. "And, in part, because of what you _didn't_ say, we did. We are. So, thanks, man."

"It was my pleasure."

Duo grinned. I smiled, relieved that I hadn't made a misstep after all.

He stood and pushed his chair in. As he did so, he looked up and met my gaze once more. "Just so you know, if you try and pull something like that on us again, we'll _both_ kick your ass."

I barked out a laugh before I could stop myself. "Bring it on," I replied, gathering my files and standing. "I'd like to see you two try."

With a wink and a chuckle, Duo pivoted smartly on his heel. A flick of his wrist unlocked the door and he disappeared into the hall. I didn't doubt that he was joined almost immediately by his husband and copilot. I'd never seen two people so connected to each other.

I was honored to have played a part in it. A small, but not insignificant part. The knowledge of which I would treasure always.

Even if they ended up trying to kick my ass for it.

I grinned and, balancing my tower of notepads and files carefully, turned out the lights in the conference room as I left. There was world peace to look after and I had work to do.

* * *

NOTES:

The moments Duo reminds Quatre of are from Two out of Three _Chapter 3: Love Songs for the Genuinely Cunning_ & _Chapter 5: Setting in a Honeymoon._

This continuation was made possible in part thanks to Waterlilylf who speculated on Quatre's motivations back in Chapter 5 of Two out of Three. I hope this little window into the World of Winner was worth the wait!

I love me a strategically-brilliant yet innocent and sensitive Quatre. I endeavor to make him Machiavellian in the awesome-est way possible. To some extent, I think the other pilots know how devious and cunning Quatre is but, for the most part, they let him get on with it because they trust him. I also like that Quatre is worthy of that trust. To quote some epic line from somewhere: "He only uses his powers for good, not evil."


	6. First Last and Only Time

WARNINGS: **Rated M** for language & YAOI (this means two married men having marital relations... with each other)

DISCLAIMER: I don't own the boys, the Gundams, the copyrights, or the patents. But the snappy one-liners are mine, all mine (unless indicated otherwise in the chapter notes).

* * *

**First, Last, and Only Time**

_Follows "Two out of Three" – With their training completed, Duo and Trowa are given their first mission-support assignment. Trowa POV. Rated M for m/m sexual situations._

* * *

"No way, pal. _I'm_ taking the pilot's seat on this one."

Heero stiffened.

Wufei glared. "Cross—"

"He's the better pilot when it comes to terrestrial aircraft," I interjected before things could go pear-shaped and end up blowing out the walls of Heero's meticulously organized office. "I'll take the gunner position."

"In that case—" Duo swooped in and snatched up the mission outline from Heero's grasp. "—it looks like there are a few typos on this that need correction. I'll just go fix those, shall I?"

I watched him storm out of the room, his stinging pride at the helm.

Heero growled, "Why does he always have to be so damn competitive?"

There was no arguing that Duo was competitive. Just shy of viciously so. "Our lives have changed a lot over the last eight months," I reminded him.

Heero wasn't particularly interested in hearing it, but that was fine. I let him and Wufei get back to work. Work and mission preparations would help Heero cool off so he and Duo didn't end up finding an opportunity to each gain a set of bruised knuckles during our upcoming assignment.

Heero was wrong, though, if he thought Duo's insistence on piloting could be completely explained by pointing to one culprit: competition. If anything, Duo's competitive spirit gave him a relatively harmless outlet for the pressure he was under, pressure to make the seamless transition to a team player within a system that imposed uncompromising standards and immovable expectations. I doubted Professor G had ever demanded so much of him. The old bastard had only ever asked Duo to sacrifice his life, never his soul. The jodhpurs and the braid had said it all: G hadn't cared about Duo's quirks so long as he dedicated his life to the impossible task of eradicating one oppressive military organization after another. Now Duo wore khakis, pressed with a single pleat, and kept his shoulder-length hair pulled back in a neat ponytail. He filled out his flight plans in Times, New Roman, 12-point font with standard margins and one-point-two-five spacing. As per regulations.

No, Duo's struggle wasn't about competition at all. It was about finding balance after the world had been yanked out from under him. I could imagine each and every confidence-quaking, self-image destroying, life-threatening beating that Duo had taken just within the last year alone: first at WEI, from the time I'd kissed him on the rooftop until Howard had found us huddled together on the couch; then on X18999 when we'd been dancing in quicksand; after that, the pretense of the mission had fallen away revealing the future to be an alien landscape from which he'd made a strategic retreat; perhaps the world had settled down for him in that sleepy, little countryside town, but then he'd chosen our marriage and every day in Clifden had been a kind of nested Pandora's box as we'd inched our way toward cohabitation, unlocking one layer after another and either breathing a sigh of relief or facing the subsequent fallout; finally, we'd come back to the real world, to a three-year commitment that had begun with training and was now defined by probationary employment.

It didn't surprise me that Duo was even now searching for his center of gravity: the world hadn't stopped shifting unpredictably beneath him. It didn't help that Heero was simply unable to imagine a reason to resist such a regimented and micro-managed existence. Additionally, neither Wufei nor Quatre seemed to be having difficulty integrating into the Preventers' machine of justice-for-all, but they had the touchstone of stable childhoods to fall back on.

I suppose I did, too. In a way.

"Y'know, I don't set out to be an asshole when I wake up in the morning," Duo muttered at me when I leaned a hip against the often-unused desk we shared with about ten other guys in the transport hangar. He was jabbing at the keys like each and every one of them was an unblinking eye of Satan and he was determined to provoke an early Armageddon.

I told him, "You are not an asshole."

"A shithead, then."

"Try again."

"A goat-licking sonuvabitch?"

"Do I look like a goat to you?"

And finally he laughed. He threw back his head and barked out all the tension that was tearing him up inside. "Uh, maybe if you grew a beard?" he suggested, his eyes glittering with mischief.

Since we were the only ones in the cramped and generic office, I braced a hand on the desktop so I could lean in and, lips brushing his ear, said, "Ba-aa-aa!"

Which, of course, set him off again. The accomplishment shouldn't have made my chest puff up. I'd piloted a Gundam – one of the best combat mobile suits in the known universe – so I knew what power was and I knew what it felt like to have it at my fingertips; somehow, that paled in comparison to making my husband laugh out loud. _This _was power. The very best kind.

He wound down and I found myself staring into his eyes, our noses nearly touching. His grin was wide but soft. "So, we can at least agree that I'm a sonuvabitch?"

"No."

He threw up his hands, aggravation trying to find a foothold in his self-depreciating humor. "How would you put it, then?" he challenged.

I smiled. "You are… being yourself." When his eyes gleamed with dark and sarcastic intent, I added, "Unfortunately, Gerald is also being himself. Add in a small, enclosed space and brace for impact."

He snorted. "Impact, yeah. I was _yea_ close to impacting my fist on his damn face." He punched a couple more keys and the printer on the other side of the room whined to life, working itself up to grudgingly spitting out the revised copy of the mission outline.

"I noticed."

Duo leaned back in his chair. It squealed with alarm but he ignored it, linking his fingers together behind his head in a display that was tempting me to wonder what else might be on the menu.

"Thanks for backing me." His serious tone knocked me back into the moment we were actually _in_ rather than the one I was hoping we'd be having before takeoff at 2000 tonight.

"I was simply stating a fact," I informed him. He really was the better aircraft pilot. His strength was in wings and rotor blades, mine in bipedal mobile suits. "Everyone knows colony boys are born knowing how to handle a stick."

His lips twitched. "It's called a cyclic," he corrected me.

"See? You know what you're doing."

He grinned and sat forward, leaning up until we were almost kissing. "An' I know what we're _gonna_ be doing just as soon as preflight is taken care of."

With a wink, he brushed past me. I kept my hand in my pocket and let him go. Duo Maxwell might like to tease, but he always followed through.

Three hours later, with our chosen helicopter locked and loaded like the weapon it was, he came through.

"Duo!" I hissed through gritted teeth. How did he know? How did he _know_ how much I liked it in the shower? I'd certainly never told him, but somehow he'd figured it out.

With the white noise hissing around us like static, I lost myself in the moment, for there was only this moment with no external world, no universe beyond. There was nothing except for Duo's shoulders beneath my hands, my knee hooked over his hip, his body rocking unstoppably against mine, my back pressed against the shower liner, and the sound of his voice stumbling through my name again and again and again.

"You remember," he whispered urgently into my ear, "the first kiss I gave you?"

I leaned my head back and closed my eyes. "Yes. Outside my door."

"You invited me in," he reminded me as his mouth moved over my arched neck.

"I wanted—" I began to confess, but then his hand, callused now after two months of training and two additional months of piloting, smoothed over my flank, leaving sizzling skin in its wake as it slid under my ass and—

_"Fuck!"_ I hissed when his soapy fingertips touched me _there._

"Yeah," he agreed, his lips moving against my exposed throat, his teeth just a thin barrier of tender skin away from the lifeblood beneath, "I wanted it, too." He sucked my earlobe into his mouth and I groaned, my fingers digging into his muscles.

His hips were rubbing breath-stealingly urgent circles against mine and his fingers were mimicking the pattern. I wasn't going to last much longer.

"You wanted—to wait—to—" I attempted to remind him. I had no idea why I was still trying to uphold my end of the conversation. Lengthy vocalization was not one of my strong points, generally speaking (and even less so during lovemaking).

"And you were worth it," he growled, changing the rhythm again, surging against me roughly, perfectly. _ Hmmm, yes._ "Worth it," he repeated tenaciously. "Everything. You're worth it all, baby."

They were more than words – I could feel it – and Duo gave that to me without reservation, just as he gave himself. I fell into him and fractured. My heart burst and my sight darkened as I came, as he came, and the white noise continued uninterrupted around us, a moment out of time.

The leg under me shook, trembled, and the one hitched up over his hip gave out. As I felt it begin to slide downward, his hand was suddenly there, lowering my foot to the floor carefully lest I trigger a muscle cramp. Meanwhile, I breathed. Just breathed. Duo's weight against my pelvis and chest held me upright. This weakness should have left me shaking with terror-induced anger instead of sated with pleasantly buzzing satisfaction. The soldier in me would have hated it if my faith in Duo hadn't been unbreakable. I knew that I could lean on him and that he'd have my back. No exceptions and no excuses.

Today was no different. He kissed me as he rinsed us both off. He toweled us dry. He pulled me out of the bathroom and then tucked himself up next to me in bed.

I spared a thought to ask for the time, but Duo would already know, and he would keep watch. He wouldn't let us be late.

I slept.

He woke me with a caressing hand which ventured up and down my back until I stirred. _It's time to go,_ he told me in perfect silence when his arm banded tightly around me and his lips pressed against my temple. _I know,_ I didn't say as I let out a long breath.

I leaned up for a kiss, the kind that nearly tasted like sun-warmed, salty caramels and made Duo shiver. And then we rolled apart to get dressed.

We still had two hours before liftoff. We spent it going over every inch of the helo. It was this uncompromising attention to detail that had earned us – a pair of pilots fresh out of training – the privilege of transporting the most delicate and volatile cargo: prisoners, evidence in criminal cases, and documents that were so sensitive that transferring them electronically in digitally encrypted files was too great a risk.

And tonight we'd be implementing a flight plan which was inherently more dangerous: a drop off and retrieval in full stealth mode. A future investigation into a suspected illegal weapons manufacturer would hinge on our abilities. Heero and Wufei's team was counting on Duo and I to get them into optimal position for launching their reconnaissance of the compound. They were also relying on us to undetectably swoop in and extract them.

This particular brand of responsibility was a weight I was used to bearing. Only now, as it settled upon my shoulders again, did I realize it had been absent ever since Duo had slid the silver wedding band I now wore onto my finger.

I glanced his way, wondering if he felt it, too, but he looked totally confident. A bit jazzed up, even. I watched him as his hands moved over the helo's controls, checking every switch, bringing up every system stat. Here, on the cusp of a mission, he was undeniably at home.

Another piece of the Duo Maxwell puzzle slid into place. I'd seen this before; I just hadn't realized it was an integral part of who he was.

I broke our usual preflight silence to observe, "You have a lot of experience with this." His brows twitched questioningly. "Taking point," I elaborated.

He paused and a wry grin attempted to sidle its way onto his face. "Yeah. I guess I do." He looked up and into my eyes. "Back in the day."

It said a lot about the kind of lives he and I had lived if we could use the phrase "back in the day" at our age and load it with meaning.

He offered, "I'll tell ya'bout it later if you want."

Of course I did. There was nothing about him that I wasn't keenly interested in. "I'll remind you."

"Thank you, dearest," he snarked playfully.

Well, I suppose that had come out somewhat, ah, nagging. "Did you remember to take out the trash?" I dared to tease.

He smacked me on the arm with his digital clipboard in retaliation.

We finished up twenty minutes before scheduled liftoff, as usual. Normally, we'd sit and talk about mundane topics while we kept a sharp eye out for anything unexpected which might delay us. Once, the girlfriend of one of the guys assigned to Flight Maintenance had dropped by. I'd had my utility knife in my hand before the hangar door had slammed shut behind her. Duo had stepped in front of me, giving me a moment to assess the situation while he'd charmingly interrogated her on who she was and why she was here.

I'd kept watch, wary that she was attempting to supply some kind of distraction for unknown cohorts, but all she'd wanted was to return her boyfriend's cell phone to him. Apparently, he'd forgotten it at her place. Duo had pointed her in the direction of the hangar lounge and that's all that had come of the incident.

"Stand down, baby," he'd purred softly in that tone which never fails to turn me into warm molasses. He'd massaged my knife arm, and I'd slid the blade back into its sheath, unused.

That had not been the first time I'd drawn a knife in response to being confronted with the unexpected and I didn't expect it to be the last. Tonight, however, there were no surprises. We took turns studying the terrain maps and the layout of the manufacturing compound.

"It's kinda too bad we're not going inside on this one," Duo mused with perverse cheer.

I suggested, "If you want an excuse to crawl through ductwork and access tunnels, there's that persistent clog somewhere down our water line. You could take care of that."

He chuckled. "Don't tempt me."

I knew he missed stealth-work – down-and-dirty, dark-and-cramped, dust-and-rats stealth-work – but I was never going to understand _why._

According to the mission outline, that was going to be Heero's role tonight. Despite the fact that his partner _and _a team were going in, the assignment was a fairly solitary one. The four agents on the roster aside from him and Wufei would be little more than lookouts as Heero made his way to the building's computer mainframe to plant a data transmitter and create hard copies of as many incriminating files as he could access in the twelve-minute window he purportedly had between security checks.

I did not envy him the assignment. Duo, however, had a nostalgic air about him that didn't dissipate until our passengers arrived.

The other four agents on Heero and Wufei's team were strangers to me, but they looked young. It was entirely possible that they were a decade older than us and had been with the Preventers longer, but they'd never had the weight of an entire colony cluster's wellbeing thrust upon their shoulders. That much was obvious.

Duo and I greeted them with the same indifferent nod we gave our friends. A prolonged greeting with the lead agents might disrupt the team's overall focus, not to mention their group dynamic if they thought for even an instant that the flight crew had "favorites". Perhaps it seems cold, but impartiality is sometimes best.

"Liftoff in five minutes," I said into the crewman headset as Duo nudged the rotors out of their lazy idle and into preflight warm up. "Buckle up and lock down."

Crewmen helmets were cinched in place and harnesses sorted out. Once everyone got done with last minute gear and seat adjustments, I continued, "Drop off is at one-point-two clicks south-southwest of the target's cargo and delivery bay. The gunner—" I lifted a hand to identify myself as such (as per the completely unnecessary and oftentimes moronically redundant Preventer flight regulations). "—will operate the loading door. Seventy-seven minutes until target acquisition and counting."

"Copy that," Heero confirmed after each team member had given him the standard thumbs up in acknowledgement.

And we took off. Precisely on schedule. Duo might not have deigned to roll out of bed on time for a day of WEI busywork but, as Pilot Joseph Cross, punctuality was a matter of pride. Duo and I stayed in touch with our contact at air traffic control until we were well out of the city limits. Over a stretch of uninhabited corporate-controlled farmland, his fingers danced over the controls and, suddenly, everything went silent.

"Do not remove your headsets until you are cleared to do so," I reminded our guests in the cargo hold. Just because the blades no longer chopped through the air so coarsely, that didn't mean that it was safe to expose the human ear to the intense fluctuations in air pressure. There was always a price to be paid for bigger-better-more. In the case of stealth helicopters, the silence could become permanent for the operators and passengers.

Dangers to the inner ear aside, the flight was like a dream. Duo didn't simply pilot the helo, he flew _with _it. To me, the machine was simply a tool for getting from point A to point B. For Duo, I suspected the experience was almost sacred.

I grinned. That was a colony-born boy for you. And remembering how he'd piloted _me _only a few hours earlier was one hell of a turn-on.

"Approaching target," Duo announced just as the clock on the control panel ticked off the seventy-first minute. We were right on schedule.

"Prepare for drop," I ordered Heero and the others. I scanned the area for signs of activity. We were in an old industrial district which had been abandoned when the local train depot had closed down years ago. Most of the buildings were dilapidated, skeletal, and dark. In the center of the once-thriving manufacturing center was a cluster of seemingly impregnable concrete structures. I didn't wonder if, seeing that, Duo would envy Heero his task any less; my husband was probably itching to give the place a go himself. The greater the challenge, the more he simply _had _to conquer it.

I checked my sidearm and unbuckled my harness. I couldn't hear Heero, Wufei, and their team doing likewise, but I could see them going through the motions out of the corner of my eye.

Careful not to touch Duo and distract him from the approach, I climbed between our seats and took up position beside the side loading door. All six agents lined up, clipping their jump cords to the line strung across the inside of the helo's roof. I threaded one arm through the anchored safety strap and reached across to grip the door handle with the other.

"Countdown to deployment," I heard Duo say.

"Standing by," I answered.

"Three… two… one… _mark!"_

I pulled the door open. Wufei stepped forward and scanned the darkness with the infrared goggles built into his crewmen's helmet, his weapon at the ready. "Clear," he announced and motioned the rest of the team forward for the jump.

One by one, their jump cords stretched, turning a bone-jarring leap into a gentle descent. Heero was the last one out and when he was gone, I braced myself beside the door, gun trained on the darkness, waiting until each agent was safely past the helo's stealth zone. I listened as they reported in and then unsealed their protective earphones. Their helmets stayed on.

I slid the door shut. "All clear," I told Duo and he lifted us away.

Rendezvous was in two hours, so he landed in a distant, forest-encircled meadow to conserve fuel. We maintained stealth mode even with our speech; simply monitoring the team as they breached the perimeter of the compound. The GPS tracking chips in their helmets gave us their position to within a half meter of accuracy.

We were out of range of the air traffic control tower so they did not have any updates relevant to our position, but we kept the line open. Just in case. Via our headphones, we heard the occasional whispered report as the team progressed through their objectives.

An hour came and went. We watched as five blinking dots on the tracking screen took up defensive positions while a sixth ventured onward in a winding path. Duo grinned as he stared at it, stealthing vicariously.

After eleven minutes and twenty-some-odd seconds in one position, Heero's signal began a retreat. He rejoined the others and they began to pull back the way they'd come. Reassuring silence continued to undulate sinuously over the satellite connection.

And then…

Nothing.

Heero, Wufei, and the others were utterly still, totally silent. Hunkered down just inside the cargo bay doors. We waited another ten minutes for the order to standby for pick up. Nothing came.

I looked up as Duo reached for the controls. I didn't ask what he was doing. I knew he wasn't going in for the retrieval. There was no way the team would be in position by the time we flew over that meadow. The only explanation was reconn.

"Proceeding to assess the situation," I said into the headset.

There was no answer on the other end. Heero and the others were being very, very quiet. That was good because it meant that they hadn't been discovered yet. But it was also bad because they could not tell us what they needed from us in order to complete the assignment safely.

If I'd thought Duo flew like a dream before, it was nothing compared to how he handled the helo now. He drifted us past the southern face of the compound like a dandelion seed carried by a summer breeze, staying low and just beyond the reach of the motion-sensitive security lights.

I used our pair of night vision binoculars to take stock of the scene. A line of semis had been pulled up to the cargo doors. Each was backed into a bay like a key in a lock. The only exit was a single service door and it was manned by an armed security guard.

It was pretty obvious what was in the process of happening. The cartons of stock in the bay were being loaded up for transport and delivery. And with each passing minute, the team trapped inside was losing cover. I glanced down at the tracker screen and noted their positions. They'd moved back, further away from the door they should have been heading for. They were running out of places to hide.

They needed a diversion.

I scanned the area as Duo completed a silent lap around the installation, and I made a choice.

I didn't dare use the comm. link any more than necessary; the team's position was too precarious for me to distract them. I signed to Duo.

_I'm going down._

His hands remained steady on the cyclic even as his eyes widened. I signed once more. _Circle around again. Drop on west side._

I saw his jaw clench in the dim light from the illuminated gauges, but he didn't hesitate. He started the second pass. I checked my gun again and shrugged out of my harness. This time, when I squeezed between our seats, I touched his shoulder.

The cargo hold was dark, but my night vision goggles helped me locate what I needed with minimum fuss. Duo and I hadn't stocked flash grenades with any particular purpose in mind, but I was glad we had.

"In five…" Duo said.

I slung the pack of explosives over my shoulder.

"Four…"

I clipped a jump cable to my belt.

"Three…"

I reached for the loading door and braced myself.

"Two…"

The door slid open soundlessly.

"One…"

Darkness rushed past.

"Mark."

I jumped. The line slowed my fall until my feet made contact. I disconnected the clip with a tug on the release cord and rolled into the shadows. Coming to a stop, I unsealed my earphones and listened. I didn't hear a thing as Duo took off. I only felt a brief rush of wind.

Although I didn't know how much time Heero and the others had before they were discovered, I didn't rush. I moved methodically, glad that I'd studied the compound layout and security features so carefully. That knowledge led me along a comfortingly dark path. I stayed out of the detection zone of the motion sensors as I came at the south wall in an easy lope. Using the bulk of the semis to work the blind spots to my advantage, I selected one vehicle and began my approach.

The truck cab was empty and the guard by the service door hadn't spotted me when I'd stayed low – almost crawling – across the open space. He wouldn't be able to see me now, not with semis on either side of me. The truck door had an electronic key pad to which I did not know the combination. Nor did I have time to hotwire it. I moved further back, to the rear of the cab, and fitted myself between it and the trailer.

My fingers sought out the thin metal sheeting which provided the rear wall for the cab. And then, with my knife in hand, I started in on opening it up like a can of sardines.

The black coating on the knife made it a nearly soundless process. I made three long cuts in the shape of an "H" and then, bracing my shoulders back against the trailer, I pushed them inward with my feet. When the metal sheeting had bent just enough, I tossed the pack of flash grenades inside and wiggled my way in after them.

Hotwiring the truck from the inside was simple. Attracting attention as the engine rumbled to life and the wheels started turning was even easier. I pulled out of the bay without clearance or care for what was going on in the trailer. Slouching low in the driver's seat, I ripped through the gears, gaining speed, and aimed the truck toward the west side of the building.

Impact in ten seconds. "Team, prepare to move out," I said into the headset and began the countdown.

It was all down to timing now. I braced myself.

Search lights were sweeping toward me. I held my course and braced myself.

And then—

The sound of the truck smashing into the concrete wall roared across the night like thunder. Or perhaps that was the sound of my gun discharging, blowing out the passenger-side window. Flipping the safety back on, I tucked the gun in my waistband, reached for the window frame and boosted myself out of the cab. I pulled myself onto the roof of the vehicle, leapt up to the top of a single-story addition to the concrete monolith, and sought out a shadow.

I could hear footsteps closing in on the ground. The search lights illuminated the bashed and still growling-chugging-hissing truck with its cargo guts trailing behind it over the concrete drive. I drew my weapon, sighted through the broken window, and fired.

I covered my eyes to protect them from the chain of blindingly bright flashes I'd just set off. I didn't wait around to see if anyone was going to notice me. I used what hand and footholds I could to get myself onto the roof of the main structure.

"Pick up at north wall," I panted at Duo, sprinting for the corresponding side of the building.

"Moving in."

I reached the edge of the roof just as the black helicopter rose like the Grim Reaper before me. And then, with a maneuver that I'd seen once in a big-budget action film (and now recalled that I'd scoffed at for being pure sensationalism and wholly impossible), Duo swung the helo about and all I had to do was dive for the still-open loading door.

I took the step that would launch me to safety.

That's when the sound of gunfire finally rang out.

It was close.

CRACK! _zzzmmmm…_

Very close, which meant Heero and the others were probably in the clear. I jumped.

CRACK! CRACK!

_Ping! Ping!_

Shit. The helicopter had taken fire. Une was going to kill us.

CRACK!

_BANG!_

I tumbled into the cargo hold. "Clear!" I reported and Duo got us out of there so fast my head was spinning. I pulled myself up and pushed the loading door shut – we'd move faster with it closed – and stood by, waiting for Duo to order the team's retrieval, then I reached up to seal my earphones back in place to counteract the rapid changes in air pressure.

The world continued to tumble and blur and I knew it wasn't because of Duo's piloting, which meant it had to be _me _who was unsteady. Had I been hit? I didn't feel any pain, didn't see, smell, or feel any blood, but that was no indication. Adrenaline is nature's most perfect mask and only time could crack it.

Well, I wasn't dead yet. I focused on that and my vision began to settle.

Duo disengaged the stealth mode in order to leave a false and obvious trail leading away from the compound. Once we were just over a forested ridge, he silenced the craft again and circled back to the field. Wufei was counting down their progress in an attempt to make the extraction as smoothly timed as possible. I felt the helo hover in place before starting to lose altitude. Duo commanded, "Retrieval on my mark – coming in fast!"

I didn't doubt it.

"Mark!"

I threw the door open, reached for the nearest flak jacket, and hauled the body attached to it into the cargo hold, then the two of us each grabbed a second, and then I left those three to manage the remaining half of the team. I had a gunner seat to take.

I scanned the area with the night vision binoculars, but I didn't see any sign of antiaircraft missiles. The compound security forces had been mustered and were starting to scour the surrounding area in Jeeps, but they wouldn't find anything in those old, moldering buildings.

They might, however, find the transmitter that Heero had gone to such care to install. Well, there was always the hope that he'd gotten out with the hard copy motherload in his pocket. We wouldn't know until debriefing, at any rate, and it was too late to do anything about it now if he hadn't.

I put it out of my mind.

Eighty-two minutes later (the wind had picked up and added air resistance to our return flight), we touched down on the Preventer tarmac. The rotor blades, no longer in stealth mode, slowed. The crewmen helmets came off. No one offered any congratulations.

None were deserved. We'd fucked up.

Duo and I slumped our way out of the helicopter. The sun was just beginning to rise and, in the glow, I counted two bullet hits on the side of the helo. They hadn't breached the skin, so it looked like an easy spackle job for the repair crew. In short, it could have been worse.

"Holy _fuck!"_ Duo hissed and I was completely confused when he reached for the helmet tucked under my arm and just stared at it.

"What—?"

He dropped it to the tarmac and suddenly he was tearing at his flight gloves, tossing them carelessly aside and his fingers were in my hair. "Oh thank God," he sobbed, his voice dry and broken. He examined my scalp like he was expecting to find and read braille there amongst the hair follicles.

I glanced down at my helmet as it finished its bounce-and-roll across the concrete. It bumped against the side of my foot and I saw what had set Duo off. There was what appeared to be a hole in the back of the otherwise unbroken dome. But no, it wasn't a hole. Something had gouged a hole and lodged itself in there. Suddenly, I realized why I'd been so disoriented after I'd made that leap into the helo's cargo hold.

I'd been shot.

"Thank you, God. Thank you thank you thank you—"

Duo's voice, Duo's claw-like fingers pulling at my hair, Duo's body fitting itself against mine right here in the middle of the launch pad woke me from my shock. I reached for his wrists.

"I'm fine," I told him.

I reached for his waist and pulled him closer.

"I'm fine."

He pressed his face against my neck. He was panting so hard I thought he was going to pass out.

"I'm fine."

But if that bullet had struck six inches lower or I'd leapt six inches higher, I'd be paralyzed from the neck down… or dead. I shuddered. My hands fisted in his flight suit jacket.

Heero hesitated to follow Wufei and the team inside. When he glanced our way, I met his gaze without flinching.

"I have to report this," he informed us, his gaze dropping to the helmet at our feet.

I nodded. "Do whatever you have to do." I could not care less. I was standing here, feeling Duo in my arms. That was all that mattered.

The director didn't agree with me when we handed in our reports twenty minutes later.

"Gentlemen, what positions do you hold here with the Preventers?"

"We're pilots, ma'am," Duo replied in a subdued tone.

"Yes, that is correct. Do pilots improvise missions, Mister Cross?"

"No, ma'am."

"Do they concoct and implement rescue attempts?"

"No, ma'am."

"Do they _blow up_ the property of potential suspects?"

"No, ma'am."

"How very interesting that you managed to do all three in the span of fifteen minutes."

She leaned forward, bracing her elbows on the leather-trimmed ink blotter.

"First, last, and only time, gentlemen, or there will be no more live-op assignments for either of you. Ever again."

I suppose we deserved that. Looking back on it, it was easy to see now that we should have trusted Heero and Wufei to guide their team into the building's ductwork to await a better opportunity for extraction. They may have had to spend all day in there, but they could have maintained the integrity of the op. We'd had no proof that lethal force would be used on them even if they were discovered. Although, now, I felt we could argue convincingly in favor of that theory.

I thought of my crewmen's helmet. It had saved my life and now it was evidence against us, evidence that Duo and I had backslid into that all-or-nothing mindset that had gotten us both through the war. We weren't at war anymore.

For the first time, I wasn't really sure what we _were_ doing, what we were _supposed_ to do, who we were supposed to be or how we were supposed to fight.

"Understood, ma'am," Duo responded in the same, peculiarly demure tone of voice.

"Do not report for duty today or tomorrow. If Internal Investigations has questions for you, answer them."

Duo nodded and stood. I blinked at nothing at all for a moment and then I felt his hand under my arm and he was pulling me to my feet.

I'd almost abandoned Duo. I'd almost _never_ had him in my arms again. The kiss we'd shared just eight hours and three minutes ago had almost been our last.

All I could think of was everything that had almost been destroyed because of a mistake in judgment.

When I took note of our surroundings again, we were inside our housing unit and Duo's hands were working the fastenings on my clothes open with delicate precision. I sighed out a breath and let him maneuver me out of my gear and sit me down on the edge of the bed. He handed me my sleep pants and then dumped his own clothes on the floor. We lay on the bed together, wrapped around each other in silence, but neither of us could sleep. I couldn't stop my arms from winding tighter and tighter around him – so tight I knew I was bending his ribs – and then forcing them to loosen… only to gather him chokingly close yet again.

He didn't complain. He pressed kisses to my neck, my shoulders. "Trowa," he whispered over and over, his hands sliding into my hair at the back of my head again, searching for the bullet hole, the fractured bone, the clotted blood that wasn't there. "Please, Trowa…"

I blinked. My eyes felt strangely hot but not itchy from lack of sleep. They felt… swimmy. Was I crying?

"Please?" I echoed dumbly. I couldn't recall ever hearing Duo say that word to me with his voice pitched so… so… I had no words for it.

"I… _Please."_ And then his mouth covered mine.

Every breath I'd taken since I'd jumped off of that roof and into the helo solidified in my belly and burned away the numbness. The wobbly, floating disorientation that had started clinging to me from the moment I'd seen the bullet smashed into the back of my helmet simply evaporated into steam. Suddenly, I was _on fire._

I groaned, fairly screamed into his mouth as I kissed him roughly, deeply. He tugged at my arms and I lunged on top of him, his legs wrapping around my hips. He rocked against me as I devoured him. Every writhe, every whimper was that _please _all over again.

He pushed my flannel pants down my hips. I reached for his shorts. I didn't know where they ended up, but they were gone and there was nothing but skin between his soul and mine.

"I love you," I gasped. I loved him more than anything. More than _anything._

"Have me," he rasped, opening his eyes and looking up at me.

Our gazes connected and, just as suddenly as the frenzy had swooped in and caught us both in its maw it subsided, calmed. I relaxed against him, smiling. I brushed my fingertips over his face, reading him by touch. "I do have you," I reminded him.

"Yeah, but… now I wanna give you more," he whispered. He drew his foot up the back of my leg. "Trowa, _please."_

Oh, God.

I couldn't refuse him, not when he was asking, which was something he'd never made _me_ do. Always offering, giving. I could not point to anything in my life that would have earned me the right to have a lover like him. And he was giving me everything.

I didn't ask if he was sure, I could see that he was. When I leaned down and kissed him, he reached for me almost frantically, but I kept it gentle and soft even though my skin was starting to sizzle again from the inside out. I couldn't keep my hands still; there was simply too much of him laid bare for me to know. And I _had _to know him. All of him.

With a kiss to his jaw, I sat back and just touched him, felt him. He was sprawled out before me. I reached for the necklace and pendant at my throat. _Trust._ This was what Duo's total and complete trust looked like: lips that invited a kiss, limpid eyes that pleaded for infinity, dexterous fingers which alternately petted and clutched at my thighs.

I reached forward and eased the band off of his now-crooked ponytail, spilling his hair across the pillow. There. My Duo.

I didn't offer to stop if he wanted me to. If there was any indication that he was uncomfortable at all – at any point in time – I'd stop. I'd find a way. I was the master of my body, and Duo, with his soft tone pitched just so which melted the soldier back into my psyche, was the master of me.

He braced himself up on an elbow, leaned over, and opened the bedside table drawer. A brand new bottle of lubricant and a condom bounced onto the bed beside my knee.

I smiled and teased, "Is that an invitation?"

"You've had your invitation," he retorted. "It's time to RSVP."

I laughed. I loved him too much sometimes.

"Comfortable?" I checked, combing my fingers through his hair, brushing my thumb against his cheek, his lips.

He nodded. I picked up the bottle of lubricant. I kissed him as I massaged him, nibbling at his gasps and soft mewls, marveling at the heat of him _there_. His hands clutched my shoulders, his hips nudged against me hesitantly. I was in no rush.

"Mmm, darling…"

He was so quiet as I sampled his skin, moving down his chest, over his belly, and then lower. So eerily quiet, but not contained. Not tense. The restless motions of his feet against the bed covers and his panting breaths somehow made it sacred.

Sacred. Yes. When I slid into him, that was the first word that came to me.

"Duo," I mouthed, groaning. I was never going to forget the feel of him – us – like this. I was never going to forget how he looked now with his eyes drifting shut and hands reaching for me. I was never going to forget his sighing breath, the flutter of his lashes, the way my name tumbled past his lips.

He groaned long and deep, pushing against me and tilting his hips _just so_.

"Nuh!" I informed him, my fingers curling, digging into the bed sheets. His hands moved over my shoulders, down my chest and belly where they paused and I watched as he pressed one palm to my skin and ventured further, his fingers brushing against me – us – where we were joined, communicating with that one touch a kind of silent wonder.

Collecting his hand, I moved it to my hip as I lowered myself over him until our chests were brushing. I met his gaze as I waited, fully inside him – waited as patiently as I could despite the fact that his heat was destroying me – for him to give the command to proceed. He took a deep breath. He let it out. His arms wrapped around my shoulders.

"Feels safe," he told me, and then he rocked against me.

His observation tugged my lips into a smile even as the motion of his body forced a moan up my throat. How odd that he could be so right and yet so wrong at the same time. I suppose it was up to me to show him that.

I started slow, but he was too irresistible for me keep it so simple for long. Nuzzling his neck as he whined pleadingly with every thrust was heaven, but there was more that I wanted to give to him. I sat back and grasped his hips, initiating a searching rhythm meant to locate one thing.

He gave a strangled shout when I found it. Found it, and focused on it. There. Just _there._ He could feel it. I could feel him feeling it. I could see it, too, in the way his teeth clenched and his fingers dug into my forearms and his hips rolled endlessly up and up and up to meet mine. Within a few moments, he was gasping for breath. My heart was pounding, thundering so loudly I felt bruised on the inside all the way up to my eardrums.

"Aah! My—my Duo—!"

"Tr-trowa… Baby! Please, baby. _Please."_

I didn't want it to end, but I needed the release. _He _needed the release. Frantic, abbreviated moans and desperately clutching hands demanded it. I reached for the bottle one more time, drizzled cool liquid over my fingers, and then wrapped my hand around his hard length.

"Nnnuh!" he called, a sampling of imminent victory coloring his voice.

Where opening his body to me had been a confession, this was absolution.

I picked up his clutching hand and guided it to my face so I could smell him, lick the inside of his wrist, feel his calluses against my ear and cheek. The scent and taste and feel of him jerked something deep inside me, like a hook caught around the base of my spine, and suddenly I was surging into him again and again, harder and harder. His thigh muscles tightened, his back arched.

Panting-keening-teeth-gritting, I watched him shatter, watched as he shattered me, shattered both of us into nothing but broken pieces of souls and, after a few mindless breaths, I felt the jagged edges melt and meld back into one again, seamless and indestructible.

I braced myself above him on trembling arms and petted his forehead, his chest, his hip and thigh. "All right?" I asked.

"Yes," he answered, a happy smile transforming his entire being, lighting him from within. "You are."

That hadn't been what I'd meant and I knew he knew it. I leaned in for a kiss. This one tasted of heated apricots with a mingling of cloves.

I reached into the drawer for a hand towel and took up his usual task of cleaning up. Skin dry and bodies separated, I collapsed beside him, rolling him into my arms. Sleep stopped avoiding us and I felt him slip into unconsciousness moments before I joined him.

A strange feeling of being bare and unburdened woke me. I opened my eyes, shifting and seeking warmth and weight amongst the covers, but I was alone. The sun was setting; its rose-tinted light was seeping into the room through the closed window blinds. Duo wasn't in sight.

I hurriedly located my sleep pants on the floor, shook them out of their tangled ball, and pulled them on. My heart pounded. My throat felt dry and sticky. Where the hell was Duo and why had he left?

I wasn't sure I was going to like the answer to the second part of that question.

The bathroom door was shut and, in the darkening room, I noticed a strip of light beneath the bottom edge. I knocked softly.

"Yo. You're up!" he called out.

He sounded fine. Normal. That disturbed me. If what I thought I knew about Duo was true, then he shouldn't be fine and normal after asking me to make love to him.

But the only way to confront the fallout was face-to-face. I pushed open the door.

Duo was sitting on the long bathroom counter in his shorts from this morning with his feet propped up on the closed lid of the toilet seat. In his lap was a memo pad. His fingers pinched a pen between them. Crumpled sheets were scattered around him like the windfall of ideas that they undoubtedly were.

"What's all this? Another shopping list?" I teased, moving to the toilet and, scooping up his feet, I sat down. I tucked his toes up against my hips and balanced his heels on my thighs. Gripping his calves, I leaned forward and looked up at him over his bare knees.

He grinned at me. "A shopping list? I guess you could say that."

I waited, massaging the muscles beneath my hands.

"The thing is," he began after a few minutes, "I can't let last night's mission be the first, last, and only time, no matter what Une says."

"Hm?" I prompted, lifting a brow in inquiry.

"What if something goes wrong again? That's, like, _our team._ I can't just sit back, _as per regulations,_ and do nothing!"

I knew he couldn't. He wasn't capable of that. "But we can't be caught, either."

"And there's the rub," he agreed, giving me a look as he passed the memo pad to me. I took it and flipped through the pages, reading in his scribbles and diagrams a variety of contingency plans. They weren't going to be nearly as dramatic as what we'd pulled off last night, but these wouldn't leave any proof of our interference behind.

"That's what I love about you," I told him.

"What?" he asked, giving me that damn charming, crooked grin of his. "How brilliant I am? How devious and sneaky?"

I set the memo pad down on the counter and stood up, my fingers sliding against the tender flesh behind his knees and lifting them apart so I could stand chest-to-chest with him. "Everything," I answered.

His hand hooked around the back of my neck and we moved toward each other for a kiss: tart cherries and vanilla. When he leaned back, I braced my arms on either side of his hips and met his gaze. "This morning," I said, not even letting him so much as think of avoiding the issue. "Are you all right?"

Duo blinked. Took a breath. "Yeah, I'm great. It was, uh… good." And then he winced.

I was immediately sorry that I'd asked.

"No, wait," he backpedaled, grabbing onto my biceps as if I was going to storm out of the room. I wasn't, but I didn't object to his attempt to prevent me from doing so. "I mean, I… It was better than good. Kind of too good. It's like…" I waited, breath held. "It's like… free fall. Pure free fall."

Which explained why he wasn't exactly hauling me back to bed for an encore. Duo, for all his supposed chaos and spontaneity, was all about control. He preferred to roll with the punches and come out on top. He was driven to show up the people who underestimated him. He thirsted for the power to define his own destiny.

I glanced down at the memo pad and smiled. So that's why he'd gotten out of bed. He'd just needed some time while he worked out his options. Our options. These scribbles were our future if I agreed, and I probably would. I doubted I'd have any major objections. There would still be risks, but we would find a way to minimize them. Yet, I also knew there would be no compromising Duo's need to be a good point man, to always bring his people back safe and sound.

I loved everything about Duo, but this was one of the highlights: Duo didn't settle for second best, for _almost_ good enough.

That's how I knew he loved me.

"Um, look," he said, bringing my attention back to him. He was still endearingly nervous but I was already two steps ahead of him, anticipating the next words out of his mesmerizing mouth. "Are you gonna be OK if I, uh… I mean, maybe I won't ask again for, y'know, _that..._ not for, um, a while."

I smiled, suspicions confirmed. "It's fine." I lifted a hand and brushed his bangs out of his eyes. "If you never want it again, it's fine."

"But you…"

"I…?"

"Uh, really liked it."

I didn't deny it. I hadn't been as vocal as when he was inside me, but I'd loved every moment of it, loved taking care of him the way he has done for me time and time again. What he needed to understand, though, was— "I liked that I was with _you._ That's all."

"That's all?" he checked, always wary of taking anything at face value.

I gave in and allowed my niggling irritation to rise to the fore. "Would you want something you knew I wasn't going to enjoy?"

"Well, no, but it's not that I didn't like it, it's just that—"

Now I soothed him. "There's a time for it – a specific set of circumstances – and last night was one of those times." I studied his eyes, focusing on one and then the other and back again. "Just like you never offer to do the same for me when we're here." That was true. It was always non-invasive intimacy while we were on the job, and I preferred it that way. Only during our days-off when we took the airbus to Galway and drove out to the house did we dare more. The house was _our_ place. It was safe and comfortable. I could leave the soldier on the doorstep and let my husband take care of me.

He let out a shaky breath and I saw that I'd been understood. "It's just… I want you to know," he stumbled awkwardly, his hands moving to play with my bangs, "that's probably not gonna be the first, last, and only time."

If it was, it was fine. I could imagine what letting go like that must demand of him. I could imagine that the life lessons he'd learned as a child wouldn't permit him to seek that kind of vulnerability out readily. That was one of the reasons why I admired him so much. He was so strong and giving, trying so hard to learn how to lean, to be my partner in everything, but I wasn't out to change who he was. I'd fallen in love with his pride and stubbornness and independence, his protective streak and fierce loyalty. If those aspects of him were somehow diminished, he wouldn't be _my _Duo.

"OK," I said.

"I don't…" He paused, swallowed, and gathered his courage. "I don't _want_ it to be the first, last, and only time," he clarified with such openness it made my heart swell with pride and hope and everything else that _no one_ ought to be capable of inspiring in someone like me, but _he_ did.

"Then it won't." I kissed him again, tasting peace and promise. "It's dinnertime," I informed him, reaching for his hands and pulling him off the counter. "Lasagna, if I'm remembering the menu correctly."

"I'm pretty sure you are," he replied, grinning widely as he strolled past me and into the main room to get dressed.

I scooped up the memo pad from the bathroom counter and followed after him. Before pulling out some clean clothes to wear, I slid it into the bedside table drawer. Later, after a full stomach and a cup of coffee, we'd have a talk about what was on it.

And I'd be adding a few ideas of my own.

* * *

NOTES:

The term "helo" for "helicopter" was pinched from a military-based RPG/virtual gaming site. I have no idea if this is current or recognized military jargon. Apparently, it is used in the film "Rules of Engagement" and in several episodes of the TV series "NCIS"… not sure if that's a point in its favor or not.

So, Trowa is not perfect (the "soldier" – i.e. The Silencer – is kinda freaky), but he is painfully honest with himself. It might seem strange that Trowa doesn't have a problem saying "I love you" but, to him, he's just stating a fact and Trowa (in the original series or in the TooT!verse) has never shied away from facts, no matter how inconvenient or painful. Trowa sees past pretenses so well that it's sometimes hard to write him because he seems so damn omniscient and unflappable, but luckily he has this "live and let live" philosophy which makes him stand back and watch events unfold even while knowing that others are making mistakes (and he interferes after the fact, only to run damage control). Not many people are able to do that, but Trowa feels that people deserve the consequences of their actions, be those consequences rewards or punishments. How does that factor in with him creating a diversion for Heero and Wufei's team? Well, it's his and Duo's responsibility to bring them back to base safely. So Trowa has to weigh the agents' rights as free individuals against his own responsibilities with regards to their wellbeing. (Complicated, huh? But that's Tro all over for ya.) Well, that's my take on him… which will perhaps get rehashed in a novel-length fic in the future. We shall see.

"First, Last, and Only Time" and its two direct sequels ("The Unseen" and "Patron Saints") lead up to the next story in the TooT!verse: "Tag and Other Backyard Games" BUT there are several other short fics that will get sprinkled in here before we get to the sequel.


	7. Mission Complete

WARNINGS: Rated K for implied yaoi (male/male marriage)

DISCLAIMER: I don't own the boys, the Gundams, the copyrights, or the patents. But the snappy one-liners are mine, all mine (unless indicated otherwise in the chapter notes).

SPOILERS for Two out of Three - _Chapter 15: Broken Down on Memory Lane _& TooT Continuation: _First, Last, and Only Time._

* * *

**Mission: Complete**

_Follows "Two out of Three" – Duo realizes the lengths Wufei has gone to in order to help him. Wufei POV. Takes place after Duo and Trowa become pilots for the Preventers._

* * *

"You are late," I observed as Maxwell stomped across the threshold.

"Yeah, yeah. I know." I didn't look up from the mission specs until he'd slid into the seat across from my desk with a gusty sigh.

I gave him an expectant look. He might as well get it out of his system before we got started.

He ran a hand over his ever-lengthening ponytail and grumbled, "I can't find my freakin' house key, OK? And our flight to Galway is in three hours and, Goddamnit, it just _bugs _me that I don't have it."

I shook my head. The man was a brilliant strategist and an unparalleled pilot, but sometimes he was an idiot. "Look up the tracking signature."

"What?"

"Use Armstrong's key. They both utilize the same code."

"Wufei," Maxwell began in a dangerous tone. "Don't tell me there's a GPS tracking chip in my house key."

Woodenly, I complied, "I am not telling you that there is a GPS tracking chip in your house key." And then I smirked.

"You—! Dammit!" He ran a hand over his hair again. "Shit, man. I spent all damn morning tearing the place apart looking for— hold up!"

I arched a brow imperiously as he squinted his eyes in thought. "I had that key on me from the time Une gave us our new files until Tris and I officially signed up."

I waited to see if he'd get around to asking an actual question.

He very nearly did. "So you _knew_ where I'd taken Deathscythe after I'd left!"

"As did Director Une."

He blinked. "And she just waited to see what I was gonna do with it?"

"Yes." Did the man not see that she was our greatest ally? In her official capacity, she could not expunge our records or acquit us of our war crimes, but the woman was essentially our character witness. Without her endorsement, none of us would have been given the opportunity to rebuild our lives. Without her, Maxwell's rash sacrifices and Barton's mad gamble would have come to naught. In time, once our reputations were repaired, we would be free to leave the relative protection of the Preventers to rejoin society. If any of us so chose.

I was sure Maxwell was intelligent enough to have figured this out for himself. But, apparently, I'd been mistaken.

He pressed doggedly, "And you knew where I was for those three months!"

"Yes. Although he never requested your location, Armstrong appreciated the updates on your general wellbeing that I emailed him." I glared at him. Letting Barton know that his spouse had still been among the living should have been _Maxwell's_ job, not mine.

I was unsurprised when the reprimand zoomed right over his head. Nothing distracted Maxwell from the trail once he'd gotten the scent and, at the moment, he was sniffing out a different implication entirely.

"Sonuvabitch," he announced. "You knew I was comin' in and you _called him_ before I even showed up in your office!"

"Of course. You know that I usually meditate on Saturday mornings."

"But what if I'd said… I dunno, something—?!"

I cut him off. He was being ridiculous and we had work to do. "Cross, it has always been clear how much you respect Armstrong. In the week leading up to the incident with the Barton Foundation, even a blind man could see how high your regard for him was. You were not going to burst into my office and say something asinine."

"OK, maybe not." He subsided, finally. Flipping open the folder I'd handed him, he scanned the mission details. He would need this data in order for both him and Barton to select an appropriate craft and outfit it with the required armament and supplies, which would hopefully _not_ be required this time. As thankful as I was that he and Barton had acted when they had – and there was no denying that they'd saved lives on that mission – I took Une's side on the matter: they should not have gotten involved. Or, leastwise, not so blatantly. Hopefully, our upcoming live op mission would be nothing out-of-the-ordinary and the pilots' primary concerns need only be the standard ones: selecting a secure drop-off and pick-up point, the scheduling and rationing of fuel—

"Hm," Maxwell said suddenly, looking up from the paperwork in his hands. "It's unlike you to be that careless."

I blinked at him blankly.

He grinned. "You had a video phone on your desk when I dropped by that day." When I just stared at him a bit more, he prompted, "A _video_ phone with a _camera _cozying up to the confidential Preventers documents on your desk?"

Ah. He was still obsessing needlessly over the conversation I'd arranged for Barton to overhear. I endeavored to put his mind at ease, which would have the added plus of getting him to drop the subject once and for all. "I've since returned it to the media requisitions department."

"Not a very stealthy way to dispose of evidence."

"It was never evidence," I retorted. "It was a logistical necessity."

Maxwell turned his attention back to the file. "Thanks, man. Mission: complete."

"Yes," I answered with no small amount of satisfaction. Maxwell's wedding band caught my eye and I grinned smugly. "I know."

* * *

NOTES:

This was written partially in response to suspicions of Une and her motives. I still give the woman two "faces" in the TooT!verse: her "director" persona which is her public face and a second which can only be inferred as being a friend to the pilots. If my muse cooperates, this theme might be revisited in a future continuation (which takes place sometime after "Tag and Other Backyard Games"). But the other reason for this fic was to give Wufei his moment to be a good friend.


	8. Something to Celebrate

WARNINGS: Rated T for yaoi (male/male marriage)

DISCLAIMER: I don't own the boys, the Gundams, the copyrights, or the patents. But the snappy one-liners are mine, all mine (unless indicated otherwise in the chapter notes).

NOTE: This fic diverges from the style I've been using thus far with the continuations. It spans more than a year's worth of time and only focuses on one issue: personal celebrations. I have a Christmas fic written which takes place during or before this (it doesn't really matter) and I have a couple more Preventer fics which take place sometime before the sequel, _Tag._As for this fic, I wasn't sure where to stick it, so it got stuck here. Randomly.

* * *

**Something to Celebrate**

_Follows "Two out of Three" – For Duo and Trowa, beginnings are more important than birthdays. Duo POV. Takes place sometime after Duo and Trowa complete their Preventer training._

* * *

We didn't do much in the way of birthdays. Well, OK, we took Quatre out to a karaoke bar the next time his rolled around. Who knew he could sing, right? It was too bad about his two left feet, though. Quatre and dancing were so incompatible they weren't even on speaking terms. No wonder Dorothy Catalonia had skewered him with that stupid sword during the final battle. But I kept my mouth shut and ordered him another Fuzzy Navel because that's just what friends do on your birthday. I guess.

When Wufei's rolled around, he insisted we not make a fuss but, with the Win-meister leading the cavalry charge, of course we did. But, y'know, quietly. We surprised him with library membership cards to every brick-and-mortar book bank in the city plus several online, world-renowned university archives. Tro and I were in charge of squaring away the online stuff.

"Your login is 'MysteryCritic,'" I told him, handing over the cheesy card Tro had picked out at a convenience store down the street. Well, OK, I'd bought the damn thing, but how could I not when my life partner had been standing there holding the thing in his hands and snickering at it right there in the aisle? With that kind of endorsement, it had to be a keeper.

The front of the card read:

_Karmageddon: It's, like, when everyone's giving off these really bad vibes, and then, like, the earth explodes and…_

I waited for it and—

Yup, as soon as Wufei opened the card, a sad, tinny, wince-worthy recording of an explosion blasted any and all within earshot. And then some faceless voice said with profound disappointment, "It's, like, a serious bummer."

"That's not a birthday card," Quatre disapproved. Sheesh, the way he acted you'd think birthdays were sacred or something.

"We know that," I retorted, defending our collective common sense.

Trowa shrugged. "You said, 'Whatever you do, don't write the login names and passwords on a crumpled sheet of recycle bin copy paper,'" he reminded Quatre. He then gestured to the card. "That's the whatever."

I snickered so hard I think I separated my palate from the roof of my mouth.

Quatre blinked, unimpressed. "I'll be more specific with my instructions next time."

Well, he could try, I guess, but I was pretty sure Trowa and I had already set the bar.

"Cross, Armstrong," Wufei growled, glaring at the passwords we'd chosen for him.

"What?" I asked in burgeoning affront. They were perfectly good passwords.

"Tell me I can change these to something more dignified."

"You can change them to something more dignified," Trowa dutifully droned.

I shrugged, letting it go. "P!nkLulUToot00" and "W0oB3arHugZ" were perfectly good passwords. I guess there was just no accounting for taste.

Heero had chosen to share his actual birthdate with Relena. There was a story there, I was sure. Something more than the it'll-be-easy-to-remember excuse. And I was planning on digging it outta him in the most embarrassing fashion possible: in public.

"You're plotting," Trowa informed me as I paced back and forth in front of the door, waiting for him to figure out which pair of pants he was going to wear to the five-star restaurant Relena had reserved for the occasion.

"Yeah? What're ya gonna do about it?"

He smirked and stepped into his chosen pair of irreverently casual jeans. (God, I loved him seventy times more for his choice, too. They were ripped up and threadbare and they were gonna see the inside of a classy joint that had a revolving view of the city's skyline: my husband was epic I-don't-give-a-fuck-about-your-silver-spoon cool. I made a mental note to inform him of this later in great detail.)

"Still plotting over here. Unrepentantly," I reminded him. "Waiting for the ultimatum. Threats of maiming and torture may now commence. Let's have it. Fire when ready."

He caught my belt buckle and pulled me up against his bare chest. "You're too obvious," he said instead. "The others are going to catch on."

"Catch on to what?"

"Your plot."

"Which is what, exactly?" I tested.

"I don't know."

"But you're dreading it, right?" That's what I was going for. Stomach-shredding anxiety. Bhoo yeah. That's where it's at.

Trowa shrugged. "Don't complain to me when you lose the element of surprise." He shut me up with a sweet kiss and then went to go pick out a shirt. It was a tank top. I grinned as he pulled a denim jacket off the hanger to go over it.

"What?" he asked as he put it on and started rolling up the sleeves to his elbows.

I shook my head in appreciation. "Sometimes I still shock and amaze myself with my own brilliance."

He gave me a prompting look.

"I asked you to marry me," I informed him. "Best idea I ever had. And, between you and me, that's really sayin' something."

He replied by wrapping an arm around my waist and drawing me close. This time the kiss was longer. Much longer. Actually, the guys had to come up and fetch us because we were late meeting them in the lobby downstairs.

But, anyway.

My evil plan to ferret out exactly _why_ Heero had chosen Relena Darlian's birthday as his own sort of took a swan dive as the evening progressed. I'd been expecting Heero to supply me with a nice, fat springboard off which to launch my attack – say, tripping all over himself to push her seat in for her or stuttering through banal greetings or gazing longingly across the table at her. Did anything remotely like that happen? No.

Relena didn't help me much, either. She greeted Heero as warmly as she welcomed the rest of us. Hilde received a sisterly hug – from what I'd gathered, Relena and Hilde had worked together to create our new identities while the five of us were stuck in WEI – and was bewilderingly enthusiastic when Howard and Cathy (who had also been coconspirators in the whole reinventing-the-Gundam-pilots plot) finally arrived, fashionable late.

I couldn't wrap my head around the fact that Cathy had somehow gotten Howard into a dress shirt and grey trousers. At least the necktie was recognizably ridiculous. The man had an unnatural fascination with flamingoes. I asked Howie if he was wearing matching socks while Cathy was giving Trowa an exuberant hug.

"No champagne for me," Cathy said after we all settled down.

"You love champagne," Trowa remarked. How he knew this, I could only guess. He tracked the movement of Howie's hand as he collected Cathy's atop the table.

Sporting a beaming smile, she replied, "Yes, but it's not good for the baby."

Hello.

Relena squealed with glee. Quatre offered his congratulations. Hilde beamed. I jerked reflexively as, out of the corner of my eye, Trowa stiffened and froze. My hand shot out and I grabbed his shoulder before The Silencer scooped for the nearest steak knife.

Oh shit. We were gonna be uncles. Uncles.

Oh. Shit.

I just… really needed a moment. My fingers digging into the sleeve of Trowa's jean jacket, I sat there and blinked for a minute as all the standard questions got asked – how far along she was (nine weeks), if they knew the baby's sex yet (they wanted to be surprised), what names they'd picked out—

What shocked me back to myself was hearing _Wufei,_ of all people, asking that last question. I made an effort to stop cutting off the circulation in Trowa's arm.

"You OK?" I asked him quietly.

He nodded haltingly. "Are you?"

"Uh, the diagnostic scan is still in progress."

He barked out a laugh. "Keep me updated."

"Copy that."

So, Cathy's little announcement had kinda knocked me off-course, but bantering with Trowa guided me back onto the correct trajectory. Trowa and I would congratulate Howard and Cathy in private later. And then we'd all have a laugh over the looks that had been on our faces and how big a tip Howard was gonna have to drop in order to get copies printed from the restaurant's video cameras.

Right. Back to the birthday girl and the birthday boy who were now debating politics like it was a spectator sport. Hilde, Wufei, and Quatre kept glancing from one to the other like they were engrossed in a table tennis match. Back during the war, I would have bet my boots that Relena'd had set her sights on Heero. Now, though, she smiled and shook her head at Heero's support of some policy or other and he snorted rudely when she veered into the realm of idealism. If there was "something" there between them, I wasn't seein' it.

It felt like my target was evaporating right before my eyes, like I was watching frozen carbon dioxide on the deck of Howard's barge in the Caribbean steam and mist into nuthin'. Hell, maybe Heero really _had_ chosen Relena's birthdate because it was easy to remember. When I just couldn't take it anymore, I came right out and asked.

Heero actually gave us all a little Wufei-esque smirk. "Relena's was the first birthday party I'd ever been invited to. So, when I had to choose a birthdate, I remembered the date on the invitation and just wrote that down."

"Huh?"

"What?"

I gaped. Relena blinked. Hell, almost everyone at the table was freakin' flabbergasted.

Heero laughed. He actually laughed. I reached out to sniff his water glass. Had someone slipped him some funny juice or something?

He snatched the fancy wine glass back from me. "You asked," he reminded me.

I guess I had. I didn't mention what a sad, sorry thing it was that he'd had to wait something like sixteen years for his first birthday party invitation. I flagged down a waiter and requested that our dessert course come with a candle for the birthday boy. If he'd never had the pleasure of making a wish and blowing out a cheap, pastel-colored, generic candle, then he wasn't gonna go another year without experiencing it.

Later that evening, while Trowa and I were, uh, recovering from the post-party celebration in the privacy of our room, afterglow and alcohol mixing to a nice harmonious buzz, he rolled toward me and asked, "What do you want to do for your birthday?"

_"My _birthday?" I blinked at him. Hell, birthdays weren't for guys like me. I mean, I'd chosen one because I had to have one according to the ESUN citizenship registry, not because it actually meant anything. "What about yours?" I challenged and I saw the same thoughts reflected in his eyes.

So we talked about becoming uncles instead, keeping the conversation abstract. I did not want to think about Howie and Cathy, y'know, _breeding._ Eugh.

And we talked about Heero's birthday, but the conversation sort of faded into something uncertain. I didn't know what to think about our buddy's admission. It seemed so painfully random that he'd chosen the date that had been printed on the first birthday party invitation he'd ever been given. Like, such-and-such a date is for declaring world peace, and another such-and-such a date is for fucking up and killing a bunch of pacifist leaders by mistake, and this such-and-such a date is for birthdays. There ya go, kiddo. Your life's itinerary.

It was so… pathetic. And yet he'd found meaning in it… while that same meaning continued to elude Trowa and I.

So, who was more pathetic, really?

Damn.

That year, both of us made it a point to escape the city on our official birthdays. On Tro's we went to Paris for a couple of days and did some sightseeing. On mine, we invaded Guillaume and Pierra's home again and Tro learned about the wonders of roasting a ham while I stood in as his self-appointed taste-tester. Our birthdays were no big deal, mostly because they weren't really _ours._ Celebrating would be pointless and empty.

But there was one day I really, really wanted to make the most of.

"Don't buy me anything or whatever on Wednesday," I told him as I wandered into the bathroom to brush my teeth while he shaved.

He paused. Froze. Oh, yeah. He knew what this coming Wednesday was. It was our one-year wedding anniversary. "You don't want to celebrate," he summed up in a flat tone, the razor hovering over his lathered cheek.

"I don't want to celebrate a mission objective," I clarified. I turned toward him. Wrapping my arms around his waist from behind and pressing my cheek against his shoulder, I met his gaze in the mirror's reflection as I explained, "I want to celebrate the day I slid this ring onto your finger—" I tugged his left hand to my lips and kissed his scarred knuckles. "—and you said 'I do'—" I pressed my palm to the center of his chest. "—and I realized _we_ had a future."

He released the breath he'd been holding and smiled. "What do you want to do?"

"I dunno. I've never had something like this to celebrate before."

"Me either."

I grinned. "Let's have a cake."

"With candles. And a bottle of wine."

"Anything else?" I checked, amused by his enthusiasm. Somehow I'd known he'd take my idea and run-like-the-wind with it.

"The house," he said. "Let's go to the house. I'll cook."

"But it's _your_ day, too," I protested.

"You can drive us there."

"Oh, the joys of sheep dodging."

"Do we have deal?" he asked, placing his hand over mine where it rested upon his chest.

I pressed my mouth to his bare shoulder. "We have a damn sight more than that."

The next year, we decided to let Quatre and the guys make a small-ish fuss over our official birthdays. It was easier than trying to explain why it just wasn't necessary. It was important to them that we acknowledge the day of our respective births even if there was no way to know exactly when those momentous events had occurred. Our friends needed this, so we just smiled and went with the flow.

And we took time off to go visit Howie and Cathy and their little bundle of joy, Leslianne, our niece. Of course she loved her Uncle Trowa. Don't ask me what it is about him that lulls caged lions, Gods of Death, and screaming newborns into a bona fide happy place, but if he could figure out how to bottle it for sale, he'd be a billionaire. Me, I was standing by with the burping towels, listening to Howard wax philosophical about fatherhood. It was clear that the birth of his daughter was the most important day of his life and seeing how it had transformed him made me grin like an idiot.

But for Trowa and I, our first day as a married couple in our house in Ireland was always gonna be the biggest day of our lives: the day we chose to help each other be the best versions of ourselves, to be more together than we could ever become separately, the day we were no longer lost but found. Maybe it wasn't the sort of thing you could buy a greeting card for but, as far as I was concerned, it was definitely something to celebrate.

* * *

NOTES:

"Karmageddon" is not my idea. I'm pinching it from the Washington Post's Mensa Invitational 2006 entries. (Go check them out. Awesome stuff there. Awesome.)

So, I hint at the shared history between Hilde, Howard, Cathy, and Relena who all worked actively to help the Gundam pilots both before and during their time at WEI. That's where I imagine Cathy and Howard met and got together, actually. I can so see Cathy pulling a "Sally Po" move and going all guerrilla fighter on behalf of her "little brother" Trowa, leaving the circus to play an active role in helping the Sweepers set up a jailbreak scenario. Of course, Hilde joined the Preventers in an attempt to try to help Duo and the others. Relena used her political clout and connections. Perhaps someday I'll write a fic about their side of things.


	9. A Christmas Crusade

WARNINGS: Rated K for reference to male/male marriage and not-fluffy topics of conversation

DISCLAIMER: I don't own the boys, the Gundams, the copyrights, or the patents. But the snappy one-liners are mine, all mine (unless indicated otherwise in the chapter notes).

SPOILERS: the Gundam Wing Episode Zero manga, _"Filling in the Blanks", __"A Moment of Truth", & "__First, Last, and Only Time"_

* * *

**A Christmas Crusade**

_Follows "Two out of Three" – Christmas is a time for visits from the past. Trowa POV._

* * *

So this is Christmas.

I believe there's an old song with that line. If I bothered to turn on the radio, I might even hear it playing, queued up among all the other pre-programmed holiday hits that were being transmitted from an unmanned radio station. The date was December 25th and even though the majority of the world wasn't Christian, the tradition had spread thanks to the cultural and commercial exportation of it in the early twenty-first century.

Today was Christmas and while most of the world was bundled up at home, gorging on festively colored sweets and basking in the artificial glow of gaudy decorations, Duo and I were here, manning the fort.

I sighed as I wandered past the observation deck windows for the forty-third time this morning. We were the only ones here, on call in case of emergency. Our chosen helicopter was prepped and ready for launch. A backup jet was also standing by, fueled and stocked.

Duo and I had nothing to do but wait and count down to our shift change.

I'd rather be spending the day at the house, but as that would entail fighting the holiday traffic and paying exorbitant airfare rates, I knew that getting what I wanted in this case would only make me miserable and grouchy. And then there was Duo's ever-volatile and unpredictable Shinigami to consider. Traveling in these conditions would call the God of Death out like a siren's song. It was easier and smarter to accept the fact that, as the team with the lowest seniority, we were stuck with working the holiday shift. Someone had to do it and it might as well be us. It was the only viable option given our available choices.

I was on pass number forty-four when Duo sighed, tossed aside the crossword puzzle he wasn't making any progress on, pushed himself out of his chair, and marched over to the far wall where the bank of personal lockers had been installed. He opened up his with a noisy clatter and pulled out a black, plastic bag. Watching him and speculating on what he was up to was more interesting than staring at the helo again, so I turned and leaned back against the glass, tucking my hands into my trouser pockets.

"Are you… humming?" I checked as he set the bag down next to one of the break room tables and began wrestling with the ties.

"Uh, maybe?" he admitted, giving me a shy grin that made me want to help him remember how _not _shy he could be.

I forced myself to stay put. We were on call and in the hangar lounge. It would have to wait.

Duo pulled out a satiny-looking, green cloth and shook it out over the table, tugging it so it draped equally on both sides. Then he removed a sealed plastic dish, a thermos, and a—

"What is that?"

He took great care centering the thing on the table before flicking a switch on the base which caused it to pulse with multi-colored lights. "This," he replied, "is a disturbingly commercialized, plastic miniature of something that's meant to resemble a Christmas tree. Possibly. If you tilt your head and squint."

I stared at the thing, studying its plastic pine needles and painted-on frost. "That's what I was afraid of."

"Oh, c'mon. You never celebrated as a kid?"

I didn't meet Duo's teasing grin. I stared at the little, fake tree. Its blinking lights were mesmerizing. "The captain would give me a stocking filled with sweets and trinkets every year up until I was tall enough and strong enough to pilot a mobile suit." After my first battle and my first kill, magic and fairytales like Santa Claus were ridiculously morbid.

I startled when I felt Duo's hand slide into mine. He'd moved around the table to lean against the window ledge next to me. "I used to try to decorate for the rest of the gang. Y'know, carrying on the tradition."

I nodded. He'd told me about the gang, and about the boy who'd helped him become the person he was today: Duo was the one who always had everything under control, the one you could count on to come through for you, the one who didn't know the meaning of the word "surrender."

Gesturing to the little setup on the table, I asked, "You're feeling nostalgic this year?" He certainly hadn't gone to any trouble for the Christmases we'd spent at WEI but, as far as Duo was concerned, time had been standing still for those four years. It made sense that he wouldn't want to mark its passing. None of us had. As children, Quatre and Wufei certainly would have celebrated holidays with their families – the Islamic or Chinese New Year at the very least – but no one had ever mentioned their passing. It could be argued that the five of us really had been living in a state of suspended animation at WEI. I hadn't noticed. In my case (and possibly Heero's), things had merely been continuing on, everything status quo. The war had been nothing but a year-long blip on the otherwise unrelentingly dark radar screen.

The realization knocked something loose inside me, some layer of insulating armor I was carrying. I'd never had a normal holiday. I'd never acknowledged that there even _was _a normal holiday to be had. Although he'd never experienced that normalcy, Duo had recognized it, and now… now he was trying to figure out exactly what it was. I blinked at the plastic, foot-high tree and its mechanical, battery-powered lights. Duo was trying to give us a Christmas, a _real _Christmas.

"Me? Nostalgic?" He grinned crookedly. "Well… maybe. But you look like you could use a little holiday spirit."

He didn't tug me toward the table, though, which was what I was expecting. I turned toward him in time to catch a brief, pained look tugging at his brows and lips.

I rubbed my thumb over his knuckles, reminding him that I was here, that his hand was still holding onto mine. He closed his eyes and sighed. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry it wasn't _you_ that I was looking out for."

Frowning, trying to imagine the leaps in logic he'd taken to arrive at this apology, I said, "When were you not looking out for me?"

"In WEI," he admitted. "From the moment we set foot in that building, I was determined to get us out somehow. _All _of us." He paused, considering his next words. "And the gym sessions… we needed to be an _us._ The five of us, I mean. A team, a family, a unit. Like my gang. It was the only way I knew how to… to…"

When he floundered, I lifted his hand, which was still clutching mine, to my chest, nudging the pendant beneath my shirt with his fingers. "I knew you were looking out for all of us right from the start," I summarized, "and I knew those weekends in the gym were for all of us, not just for me."

Rather than providing comfort, my words seemed to distress him further.

I confessed, "That's what made me fall for you in the first place. The fact that you… _cared…_ for _all_ of us."

He looked up, read my expression, and chuckled. "That doesn't make any sense, babe."

"I know." It was counter-intuitive. Most people wanted to be special – they wanted to be singled out – and I had wanted that eventually. But at first, I'd been too raw from the final battle, too uncertain of my own shaky memories, too frightened by the things I knew how to do but couldn't remember learning. I'd gone off to battle; I'd piloted Heavyarms; I'd killed people. And through it all, I'd wondered if I was still missing something, some motivation or reason for _why_ I was doing what I was doing. Even after we'd won, I was… lost. And Duo had found me, had pulled us all together in those weeks and months following the world's rejection of us and our sacrifices.

In the silence of the hangar lounge, I tried to explain this, although I wasn't sure if it really came out the way I intended. After fumbling through the words, I finally said, "You showed me I was… equal to the others. I needed that."

He was quiet for a long moment and I began to get irritated with myself. I could speak well on abstract subjects, on war and peace and sacrifice and duty, but I couldn't thank my husband for simply being himself.

But, perhaps it did come across the way I'd hoped it would because Duo sighed, leaned his shoulder against mine, and confided, "Keeping all of us from hiding in our rooms like hermits… that kept me sane."

"It gave you a measure of control," I observed.

"Yeah, I guess it did. Still, I should have realized you were… I mean, I think you're special. Really special."

"I know you do," I softly chided him. "But being an object of one person's crusade is unnerving." And somehow undermining, like trying to cover up the fact that someone is lacking by heaping accolades upon them in the hope that they won't notice their own deficiencies.

Duo seemed to understand that, too. "Oh. Well, when you put it that way…"

I studied his profile, watching him think. I saw the question and answered it before he had to say it aloud. "Yes, I've been singled out for saving before."

"It was not a good experience, I take it."

"No."

"And, if you were the object of another crusade now?" he asked softly, his gaze shifting guiltily toward the festive table.

I smiled wryly. "A Christmas crusade?"

He laughed. "Yeah. Sounds pretty corny when you say it like that."

I put my arm around his shoulders and leaned my head against his. "I like corny."

I felt his laughter all down the side of my body. "So the tree's a keeper?"

Giving it a frank appraisal, I answered, "It's hideous. We're definitely keeping it."

"The cookies and coffee will be better. I promise," he replied, chuckling. I let him drag me over to the table. We angled our seats so that my left knee bumped his right as we passed the thermos cap between us and dusted our shirts with cookie crumbs and baking flour.

"They're from Pierra," he explained and I added them to the list of things she had yet to teach me how to make.

At some point, his right hand came to rest on my thigh, and my left arm slid over the back of his chair, my fingers tugging absently at his ponytail. Neither one of us mentioned anything about carols or presents. Nor did we volunteer any more memories or anecdotes from the past. We didn't need to. We were making new memories now and enjoying the gifts we'd already been given: each other.

* * *

NOTES:

In the part about being singled out and not liking it, Trowa is referring to his encounter with Midii Une, which is detailed in the Episode Zero manga. Long story short, Midii (a girl who was about Trowa's age) was a spy for the Alliance (under duress) and ended up getting Trowa's entire troupe killed. Trowa was the only survivor and that was because she was looking out for him, protecting him. They parted ways badly and Trowa headed off to space.


	10. Past, Present, Future

WARNINGS: Rated K for reference to male/male marriage, adult-type topics of conversation, & "mom" stuff

DISCLAIMER: I don't own the boys, the Gundams, the copyrights, or the patents. But the snappy one-liners are mine, all mine (unless indicated otherwise in the chapter notes).

THANK YOU: Profuse and ginormous THANKS go out to my dear LJ friend, Reijamira, for fangirling "Two out of Three" with me over the past week. Her enthusiasm is contagious and has gotten me all motivated to start thinking about this universe again. Muse willing (and author persevering) there will be progress made on "Tag"! *fistpump!*

* * *

**Past, Present, Future**

_Follows "Two out of Three" – Trowa and Duo have been working as pilots for the Preventers for a bout two years. Cathy POV. The boys are visiting Cathy and Howard and their infant daughter, Leslianne, so this could take place during "Something to Celebrate", I guess…_

* * *

"Do you miss the circus?" Trowa asked quietly.

His tone was so softly normal that I didn't really pay attention to the question at first. "The circus?" I echoed, looking up from arranging the shawl draped over my front for the sake of privacy. How odd that I didn't mind breast-feeding my baby here on the top deck of Howard's flagship with an audience. How odd that Trowa didn't seem to be phased by it at all when it sent Duo scurrying from the vicinity.

He nodded once. My little Trowa: always so stingy with his words and gestures. He repeated, "Do you miss it?"

A personal question from Trowa. Would wonders never cease.

I had to stop and think about it. "I suppose I do. Sometimes. Still, the Sweepers are…" I trailed off, unsure of how to really explain that a bunch of rambunctious, over-grown boys with more battle scars than most war veterans could be as much of a family as the circus manager and my fellow performers had been. More so since there were no masks. No posturing, either. Just work and play. They were my boys.

"Yes, they are," he agreed mildly.

I breathed out a nostalgic sigh and let myself remember the good times. "But, the lights, the applause, the _joy_ of it… I guess I miss those things. And my costume." I'd made it myself and I'd been pretty pleased with how it had turned out.

Some might argue that a circus was a frivolous thing, but entertainment was important. And family was important. The circus served both its visitors and its workers in those very ways. I didn't regret my decision to leave and join the effort to free the Gundam pilots because I'd gained much more than I'd given up. But now that he'd mentioned it, I wondered about my little brother Trowa.

He'd been Duo's copilot at the preventers for some time now. I'd never considered the possibility that he wasn't happy doing that. But now that it had occurred to me – and unsettled me – I had to ask. That was my right as a nosey older sister.

Tilting my head to the side, I probed, "Do _you_ miss it?"

"Every day," he admitted, his gaze dropping to the shawl as Leslianne waved her fist beneath it and fussed slightly.

I resettled her and Trowa reached out to help me adjust the shawl so it didn't fall into my lap. I didn't think it would bother me so much – I was a _mom, _after all – but he'd be embarrassed on my behalf. Especially with the guys up in the pilothouse looking on. Although, with Howard at the helm, he'd make sure they wouldn't be enjoying the view.

"What do you miss about the circus?" I pressed. Being with the Sweepers, I felt needed the same way I had with the circus, but now I had a way of affecting change. Some of the assignments Howard and the crew have taken on may not have been legal, but they always made a difference in the end. I enjoyed being a part of that. And helping my little Trowa earn his freedom… that had been the best part of all.

Trowa glanced over the deck railing and out at the calm Pacific. It was a beautiful day. He should be smiling. "I miss the simplicity," he admitted softly. "The harmless simplicity."

"Not so harmless," I reminded him. "I cut you that one time." I still felt wretched about it.

He shrugged my guilt aside. "It didn't even scar." He sounded disappointed.

"I can give you one now if that'll make you happy," I chirped.

A tiny smile twitched at his lips. "It wouldn't be the same." He looked back at me and explained, "It wouldn't be a souvenir from the circus."

If he wanted a souvenir… "I still have your mask," I offered and he stared at me blankly. I gave him a smug grin. It wasn't often that I could surprise him. Usually, it was the other way around. "Would you like to have it?"

Reluctantly, he nodded.

"I'll get it for you before you and Duo leave tomorrow." I considered him for a moment before prying a bit further, "Your work now isn't harmless or simple?"

"Nothing is simple where Duo's safety is involved."

My arms tightened around my daughter. I could imagine how he felt. Trowa was a quiet sort of guy, but he had a sense of honor that ran miles wide and was as strong as neo-steel. The hard look in his eyes confirmed that he didn't just fly planes and helicopters for the Preventers. He did something else. Something dangerous. Something he couldn't even tell his older sister about.

But I dared this much: "You do what you do because _he_ does?"

"No. Because someone has to, and I trust Duo and myself to do the right thing."

"Would you still do it if you were alone?" More than anything, I wondered how much Duo's preferences influenced Trowa's choices.

"If I were alone, I'd still be scrubbing toilets and mopping up the break room at WEI."

It was a safer job, but my little Trowa had never valued safe things much.

In a rare moment of generosity, he added, "But I'd still be in love with him."

I counted the months from the day Trowa left WEI. "Two years is a long time to carry a torch for someone," I admonished gently.

He smiled again. "I carried it for a lot longer than that."

Goodness! I'd had no idea. Although, maybe I should have. Duo's visit to the circus back during the war had affected Trowa profoundly. I could see how over time that could have grown rather than faded. In some ways, my little Trowa reminded me of a duckling, imprinting on anyone who showed him both kindness and strength. Thankfully, he'd found someone worthy in Duo.

I eased Leslianne away and out from beneath the shawl. Trowa tossed a clean towel over his shoulder and held out his arms to take her for burping while I reassembled my blouse. Watching him handle her, I knew he'd make a wonderful father. Just as I knew he'd never think to ask for that for himself. Although, if Duo wanted kids…

"Have you and Duo discussed the future?" I asked, glancing meaningfully at my daughter.

Trowa blushed. "No. Not… no."

"You might want to think about it. The Preventers are a worthy cause, but they'll take the best years of your life before you know it."

Trowa studied my expression for a long moment – until Leslianne's happy erp broke the silence – and then he chuckled, bringing her down from his shoulder and wiping her face with a clean corner of the towel. "You may be right," he answered and then settled my daughter back into my arms.

I didn't for a moment think that Trowa was going to have a talk with Duo about kids, but surely there was something else they wanted to do with their lives at some point down the road. Movement on the deck near the stairs alerted me to Duo's arrival. Or maybe he'd been listening in the entire time and had just now decided to make his presence known.

Well, I could be accommodating. I was their hostess after all.

"I'm going to put Leslianne down for her nap," I announced, moving in the direction of the stairs but then pausing after I'd taken a few steps. "I'll find your old mask, too, while I'm thinking of it."

Trowa nodded and leaned back against the ship's railing, crossing his arms over his chest. "Thanks."

Smiling, I continued on my way. I was unsurprised to turn the corner and find Duo standing on the steps just below deck-level, one hand curled over the railing in a white-knuckled grip. He had the same wide-eyed look that I'd seen on his face when he'd rediscovered Trowa after his accident. Desperate and uncertain. A little frightened. As if he were considering the distant future and his place in it for the first time.

"He loves you," I remarked softly. When Duo calmed and blinked, I added, "He'd follow you anywhere."

Duo frowned stubbornly.

I gave him a smile – it felt different from the one I reserved for my little brother but no less sincere – and nodded for him to join Trowa above.

"Just think about it," I advised and then left them to sort it out. I took my time putting Leslianne to bed and locating Trowa's old performance mask in my box of keepsakes stowed in the cabin closet.

When I returned to the freighter's top deck, the sun was just starting to set. I glanced in the direction of where I'd left Trowa standing by himself at the railing. He wasn't alone now, thank goodness. Duo was beside him, leaning his head on Trowa's shoulder with one arm around Trowa's waist, plucking aimlessly at his shirt. Trowa leaned against him in return, an arm around Duo's shoulders and his fingers tracing circles on his arm. I could hear the soft, baritone rumble of their voices but not their actual words.

I retreated back down the stairs. I'd give Trowa his mask later. And I was confident that there would be a later. Now that they were thinking about it, there would probably be a lot of laters. A whole future of them.

* * *

A note from Manny: I think there will be two more short continuations before the next fic begins. The (shorter) sequel to "Two out of Three" is called "Tag and Other Backyard Games" and it features Wufei's POV (which is why it's taking me so dang long to write it) BUT has a hella lotta Trowa/Duo good stuffz. Just, y'know, kinda from the outside looking in.


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